


The hell where youth and laughter go

by LucyInTheSkye



Series: The First Wizarding War or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Start Loving my Soul [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, First War with Voldemort, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Horcrux Hunting, Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Marauders' Era, Mystery, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Polyjuice Potion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-08-07 22:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 83
Words: 188,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyInTheSkye/pseuds/LucyInTheSkye
Summary: James is having the time of his life, Bellatrix enjoys a spot of nail-pulling, Marlene is an excellent dancer, Dorcas gets the job done, Remus finds a purpose in life that doesn’t revolve around his werewolf alter ego, Sirius should perhaps try out a healthier lifestyle, Lily brews the best Polyjuice Potion, Alastor keeps an eye on things, Mary is scared for a reason, Gideon would probably be scared without one, Regulus can’t wait to do the right thing once he figures out just exactly what that is and Peter had a great time in school. The question is, where is Voldemort’s soul and is it safe to go looking for it?This is a self-indulgent take on the first wizarding war with canon divergence from chapter 25. The story is told from several points of view in a would-be attempt to scrape the surface on each character’s psychology. There are mature themes throughout the story, but most chapters are supposed to be more humour than angst.





	1. I have no fear, ‘cause London is drowning and I live by the river

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the WWI poem "Suicide in the Trenches" by Siegfried Sassoon. 
> 
> Chapter title is from the Clash's "London Calling".
> 
> Chapters I’ve deemed to raise adult themes contain a warning in the notes, do let me know if you think more warnings are in order. 
> 
> Series title is a pun on "Dr Strangelove" (dir Stanley Kubrick). Although the story is now part of a series, please note that this is the main story, the story with the plot, and that the other parts of the series are (so far) mindless porn from Sirius’s point of view and therefore in no way required readings for this story.

 

The party had died down just before seven in the morning, despite Sirius’s best efforts. He put on one last LP, the newly released debut album by the Only Ones. He’d only listened to it once before, but the sound was a fit for the atmosphere of a recently deceased, highly successful party. He dazed off into space cradling his last muggle cigarette (many of his none-smoking friends had been bumming cigarettes off him all night), and it was only during _Another girl, another planet_ that his eyes reset themselves and let him take in the state of his and Remus’s new flat. 

Marlene McKinnon had apparently fallen asleep whilst drawing on Peter Pettigrew’s face. She had been using a quill and colour-changing ink and the painful-looking whiskers on his cheeks were glowing a pleasant turquoise colour. Peter was missing one of his socks, and Sirius spent a challenging few seconds pondering any likely reasons for this. He came up short and his head began to throb. James Potter and Lily Evans were lying across the kitchen table facing each other, an opened bottle of Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur between them. The bottle was leaning precariously on James’s chest and was bound to tip over completely when he next moved. Mary MacDonald was right beside them, seated in a kitchen chair with her head leaning against the wall, her hands clasping a battered looking handbag. She had been adamant that she needed to go home “soon”, but it seemed she had not quite made it. Dorcas Meadowes had arguably found the most comfortable spot in the sitting room-cum-kitchen and was sprawled over the dark red leather sofa. She was the only person who was snoring. Then of course there was Remus, who was sleeping in an actual bed right now, as far as Sirius knew. He had disappeared into his own new bedroom and slammed the door shut in a rare display of 'feelings' an hour previously. 

Marlene’s ex-boyfriend Benjy Fenwick, along with Fabian and Gideon Prewett, were on the floor close to the wide-open door that led to the balcony. They had not graduated yesterday, rather two years previously, but had been up for a good party. They were also the people mainly responsible for depleting Sirius’s stash of cigarettes. One of the twins had conjured up a blanket from somewhere, which now lay draped over the two of them. It was of a creamy white colour and looked incredibly soft and fluffy. Looking at the twins Sirius wondered vaguely which one he had gotten off with that eveing, as he didn't know them well enough to tell them apart. Since they, too, were in the Order Sirius supposed he would be seeing more of them in the future, and this had probably been a bad idea. Probably. 

Focusing his mind on something more productive, Sirius pondered the pros and cons of pulling a prank on his fallen party-comrades. He was in no fit state to get up from the armchair he had sat down in, so it would have to be something he could pull off from where he sat. To transfigure something into an animal could be good fun, Sirius thought. He had once, courtesy of one James Potter, woken up on the floor in James’s room with a large number of enthusiastic hens around him. James had thrown some seeds around Sirius’s passed out form, and the hens were happily pecking away around him when he came to. On a less fun occasion he had woken up in his own bed in their Gryffindor dormitory facing a very large, very dead, salmon. He had even had an arm slung around its slimy and scaly form, although Sirius was certain that James had arranged him to lie like that. No way would he have snuggled up to a dead fish on his own accord. 

If he did let a flock of flamingos (which was his first instinct) loose in his flat they would surely wake everyone up immediately, and Sirius was not sure he was cruel enough to do so. Another thing to consider was the state a large flock of birds would leave his new flat in. The hens had soiled the floor something horrifically, and Remus was unlikely to thank him for completely wrecking the floor of their shared flat on the first night. Begrudgingly Sirius aimed his wand in a complicated pattern in the air, focusing as hard as his drunk and sleep-deprived brain would let him, and muttered an incantation. It was impossible to know if his spell had worked or not since everyone, disappointingly, was still wearing all their clothes (save Peter’s one bare foot). What Sirius felt reasonably confident he had managed to do was to change everybody’s underpants to the colour pink. He had been picturing a vibrant neon-colour, which should be something that would upset everybody present, with the possible exception of Marlene. Good enough, Sirius decided, then leant back in his armchair at the same time as the needle of the turntable reached the end of the A-side of the record. A soft scratching noise from the turntable, Dorcas’s quiet snores, and the comforting city-noises of London waking up outside the confines of the flat lulled Sirius off to sleep. It had been an excellent graduation party, and they all deserved a few hours sleep after this.


	2. Too young, too proud, too foolish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the Cranberries' song "Tomorrow".

Mary Macdonald awoke before the liqueur bottle decanted itself over James’s chest. Her first coherent thought, however, was that it was bound to happen soon. She made no attempt to save the bottle. She may have decided to be civil to him, polite even whenever Lily was present, but there was no way she would be doing him any favours.

She had not planned to stay very long at Sirius’s and Remus’s party in the first place. They had all graduated together and most of her fellow Gryffindors were here, of course, but she would have much preferred to have celebrated with just the girls: Lily, Marlene, Azalea and Dorothea. Dorcas would even have been welcome, even though she had been in Hufflepuff. But no, her best friend Lily had been adamant on celebrating with Potter, and he of course had to celebrate with, what Mary privately called them, the “cool kids”. And yes, she used inverted commas around this term in her own head as well. It was not that she disliked all men, she told herself. But things had certainly not gotten better after that run-in with Mulciber a couple of years ago. The so-called pranks the boys from her own house pulled were not usually malicious, but they were unnecessary and thoughtless. She had concluded a long time ago that the topics of conversation, too, were more mature in the company of just Lily and to some extent the other girls. Azalea and Dorothea were best friends just like Mary and Lily, and they were celebrating together with their wizarding families and had politely declined to come to Sirius’s and Remus’s. Marlene’s family had thrown a similar party for her in their garden in Shropshire, but she had still managed to make an appearance in the wrecked London flat as the evening wore on, and Mary could see her sleeping contentedly on the floor. Since all of Mary’s and Lily’s families were muggles it had not been possible for them to throw similar graduation parties, and since Lily insisted on coming here Mary had followed. Mary and Lily had discussed the future of the Gryffindor girls on more than one occasion, and they both had a feeling that they would lose touch with Dorothea and Azalea. Mary would happily keep them and lose touch with Marlene, but that seemed like an unlikely turn of events. The Gryffindor boys, too, appeared to be there to stay in Lily’s life, which made Mary even more unhappy. Things were looking increasingly less likely to turn out the way she wanted them to now they had graduated Hogwarts. 

She knew everyone else in the room had joined the Order of the Phoenix, as she too had been invited to the last meeting. Officially she was a part of it as well now, but she felt angry about it and was already planning on quitting. Dumbledore was little more than a cradle-snatcher, really, scooping up a good portion of the recently graduated students and grooming them to fight for him. There was no way of knowing if there was really going to be a full-blown war, as far as Mary could tell, and she felt it would really be much more sensible for her and everyone she cared about (mainly Lily) to keep her head down and ride out the storm. It would take a lot of courage, Mary thought, to stay out of it, and there was very little, she was sure, to be won in provoking more fights, thus escalating the aggressions on both sides of the current political divide. She was equally certain that every single person in this room disagreed, and that thought made her feel bitter and upset. 

Her eye found the back of Lily’s head and she marvelled for a little while how someone could have such lovely hair. It was thick and dark red and long and wavy, it fell off the kitchen table towards the floor in a very Rapunzel-like way. Lily’s hand was entangled in James’s hand, and his other arm was stretched out under her head, much like a pillow. Lily was a woman of strong morals and incredible loyalty. She fully believed that they needed to put up a fight against the purists and Death Eaters and their politics, she was convinced that was the only way, and nothing Mary had said to her during the last year had convinced her otherwise. Lily was already a lost cause, lost to James and lost to the Order. With a pang of fear Mary realized that maybe it was Lily she would soon lose touch with. 

Maybe she should go to the next Order meeting, give it one more chance for Lily’s sake? But she was not saving James Potter from that bottle of liqueur, no way in hell was she helping the man who had successfully stolen her best friend away. He had made his own bed.

Mary got up from the kitchen chair, her neck and bum sore from the uncomfortable sleeping arrangement and in need of stretching. She quietly left the tip of a flat, glad to have woken up early so that she would not have to help clean up, or worse, talk to the others sober. She would write Lily later in the day, and maybe Dorothea and Azalea too. Maybe they could all grab lunch next week in Diagon Alley.


	3. I’m walking on sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song by Katrina & the Waves

James woke up to the sensation of lukewarm liquid hitting his chest and stomach. When he carelessly shot up into a sitting position there was a loud clonk of glass hitting the floor, and the wetness spread down to his groin. For a horrible few seconds he thought he had actually pissed himself, but the purple stain now covering most of his white shirt told him that it was unlikely to be piss. Especially since it seemed to contain bits of glitter. (He had only pissed glitter once, and that had been Sirius’s fault.) In addition to the purple and the glitter, his torso also smelt rather nice, like blackcurrants if he wasn’t mistaken. Then he caught the underlying whiff of alcohol and almost gagged. Whoever had thought that alcohol was a good idea last night ought to be hexed into next week. 

Trying to steady his stomach he turned a little to the side and noticed that Lily too was awake. She was glaring at the shiny purple puddle next to her on the able, as if daring it to move any closer to her. As a matter of fact the puddle was moving, caught up in a shimmering triple time if James was not mistaken. James felt infinitely better at the sight of her, and with a happy little grunt he laid back down on the uncomfortable table, all to be able to look into her gorgeous, emerald eyes. They reached out at the same time to grab each other’s hand, mutually deciding to ignore the sparkling puddle, now waltzing in a near perfect circle around their clasped hands. 

James must have gone back to sleep again, because when he next came to there was a smell of bacon overpowering even the blackcurrant, and Marlene was laughing hysterically in a way that suggested she had already been laughing for minutes on end. When James looked over in the direction of the laughter he could see Fabian Prewett with his hand inside of a sock, making snapping motions with it towards Marlene. Someone had conjured up googly eyes and a weird, carrot-like nose for the sock, and Benjy Fenwick was explaining something about muggles and what sounded like “sock-puppets” to the room in general. Peter was standing next to them looking a little forlorn, he was missing a sock but had gained some very majestic-looking, be they slightly askew, lime green whiskers. By their feet the blackcurrant liqueur was still making feeble attempts to keep dancing, and it had been joined by a pool of what appeared to be colour-changing ink. Dorcas Meadowes was snoring on a sofa in the background, someone seemed to have bewitched a quill to stay floating over her face, her deep snores made the quill rise and fall gently in the air.

James felt very sticky and noted that he was still covered in an excess of glitter, so he made his way into Sirius’s room. The only people in there were Frank and Alice Longbottom, both of whom were sleeping like the dead in Sirius’s bed, so James ignored them and dropped his clothes. He frowned for a second at the disconcertingly pink colour of his boxers but decided that they probably had gotten soaked in the purple liqueur as well. He performed a cleansing spell all over and opened up the wardrobe. He was a little bit shorter than Sirius, but that had never stopped the two of them from using each other’s clothes. Most of Sirius’s muggle clothes were in more neutral colours nowadays, and James really preferred colourful stuff for himself. After finding clean pants and socks he settled for black jeans and an old Gryffindor quidditch t-shirt. He decided to leave his dirty clothes on the floor for his best friend to sort out, and left the bedroom feeling quite fresh and clean for someone who had consumed a whole bottle of Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur on his own, and then bathed in most of the content of another one. 

Most of the others were now seated around the table and on the floor, the ones capable of eating whilst hungover with big plates of bacon and mushrooms and toast, the rest clasping cups of dangerously black-looking coffee. James, who was comfortably in the category of people who could eat their own bodyweight’s worth of greasy food the morning after, helped himself to breakfast and sat down next to Sirius on the floor. 

“You passed out much too early, Prongs. I wanted to conjure up a bunch of flamingos as a practical joke, but there was nobody awake to appreciate it.”

“The plural is a 'flamboyance' of flamingos, mate, surprised you don't know that by now. Frank and Alice are still asleep, we could prank them?” mused James around a mouthful of bacon.

“We could shave their hair off,” suggested Sirius, ignoring the dig at his fashion sense.

“Do we know them well enough for that? Alice is the one who will be assigning us with tasks in the Order, I reckon it might be better to do something less radical.”

Sirius looked as if he was about to argue, but then he nodded. The Order was serious business, and neither one knew Alice, who had been in Hufflepuff, very well yet. Frank had been their Gryffindor prefect during their first few years at Hogwarts, so he was an easier target. 

Once they had finished their breakfast the two of them made their way into Sirius’s bedroom, followed by Gideon and Marlene who had expressed an interest in participating. While James performed an anti-gravitational spell, Sirius took care of the spell that turned the bed upside down and attached it to the ceiling. He didn’t perform the spells smoothly enough, and both of the bed’s occupants woke up on their way to the ceiling.

“Black! Potter! Let us down this instant!” Alice’s voice was quite shrill, but as Frank was laughing Sirius and James decided that they could prolong their prank for a few more seconds. Marlene was howling with laughter again, and James loved the sound of Marlene laughing.

“Are you sure the gravitational spell is going to hold?” Gideon asked, but he looked impressed and James felt quite pleased. This was a reasonably funny, smart and casual prank to pull on people they did not know very well, giving the right impression to the slightly older Order members who were not as familiar with the Marauders as the rest. They slowly manoeuvred the bed back down to safety, and by that time even Alice was smiling. She was also snuggling up to Frank in Sirius’s bed, which made James grin. It was brilliant to see other people all loved up, just like him and Lily. 

“Maybe take it easy in my bed, yeah?” Sirius was saying, but James could tell that he didn’t really mind. Sirius was many things, but certainly not a prude.

“Might be a bit late for that, mate” said Frank, sounding almost guilty, and Alice laughed deviously.

“What are you on about?” Sirius asked.

“I'm afraid we were quite drunk last night, you see, and, well, we sort of christened the bed for you…”

At this Marlene’s laughter reached a hitherto unheard volume, and Gideon very quickly turned on his heal and left the bedroom. It was all James could do to stay upright, he didn’t think he had ever heard anything funnier. Padfoot and Moony had only moved in yesterday, this was their first night in the flat, and as much of a slag as his best friend was someone else had gotten there before him. 

“That’s a much better practical joke than ours was” James managed to get out, before resuming his undignified giggles. He was straining to get a good look at Sirius’s face, but it turned out to be quite disappointing, seeing as his best friend only looked mildly amused, rather than upset. 

“Unless you two went to bed before ten I don’t reckon you actually got there before me” Sirius said, keeping his face carefully in check.

“Oh come off it, mate, surely nobody here would go to bed with you?” James laughed, but his curiosity was piqued. Everyone knew about Sirius and Marlene, but that was years ago. Sirius glanced subtly towards the door Gideon had left by following Alice’s and Frank’s announcement, and James felt his jaw hit the floor. “No?” he said disbelievingly, but of course, he thought to himself, Sirius was a manwhore of the highest calibre when drunk. Maybe it wasn’t that surprising.

Alice was now staring at the sheets pulled around her in a horrified fashion, Marlene had yet to stop laughing, and Frank was simply looking confused, apparently he hadn’t understood who and what was being referred to. 

“That's vile, Sirius” James said happily and smiled broadly at Alice’s discomfort. “two-one to the Marauders, then, but great effort you two”. They left the disgruntled couple alone in Sirius’s bedroom soon after to find that most of the guests had disappeared off home to continue with their day, presumably by sleeping. Remus, Peter and Lily were the only ones left. 

“Padfoot shagged Gideon last night!” James greeted the others eagerly and sat down in Peter’s lap. Peter was chubbier than the other Marauders and made any chair more comfortable according to James.

“That’s rather stupid of you, isn’t it?” said Remus carefully. “Aren’t the two of you supposed to go on missions together with Gideon and Fabian?” James noted that he didn’t seem particularly surprised at the revelation. 

Sirius just grunted, he had taken the last remaining kitchen chair and was feigning an interest in his own fingernails. 

“I had no idea you went for men too”, said Lily, she was indeed looking very surprised. “I thought that was just a rumour the Slytherins got going to upset you.”

“I was really drunk” said Sirius, now a bit defensive. "Gideon's got a shapely arse for a bloke, anyway, could barely tell the difference." James laughed happily again. His best friend was truly priceless. Never a dull party, and he really couldn’t ask for a better pranking partner.

Peter was looking thoroughly contemplative, and then, to Lily’s, Remus’s and Sirius’s horror, decided to ask if it was more fun to give or take it up the arse. James chuckled to himself while he witnessed Sirius’s rare lapse into embarrassment as he tried to come up with a distasteful enough response. Really, James had surrounded himself with the very best people in the world.


	4. This is for lovers, running away, just for today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "For Lovers" by Peter Doherty.

After the revelations from Sirius, which she could have done very well without, thank you very much, Lily went to collect the dish she had brought the homemade steak and ale pie over from the sink, said goodbye to Frank and Alice (whose good mood was now restored as she purposefully gave Sirius lewd details of what had transpired in his bed to get her revenge) and checked Sirius’s bedroom only to find James’s liqueur-soaked clothes in a pile on the floor. She collected them too (warily noticing that his boxers were neon pink, what was that about?) and finally picked up James from Peter’s lap. Having invited James’s Marauders to come over for Sunday dinner the next day she flooed them back to Godric’s Hollow. 

Their cottage was in a similar state of disarray to the apartment they had just left, the two of them had moved the furniture in already, but their personal possessions were only halfway unpacked from an assortment of cardboard boxes (Lily’s) and old-fashioned chests with extension charms (James’s). There was also a new cat, black with golden eyes, that had claimed one of the already empty cardboard boxes for itself. 

“Did you get us a cat?” asked Lily, genuinely intrigued. She hadn’t thought about the need for animals beyond James’s one-eyed owl Odin, a strangely dignified and calm creature that in no way suited James but got along quite well with Lily. (James and Sirius both swore that their 11-year-old selves were not responsible for the owl’s missing eye, and in their defence, Odin did not seem like the type of bird that would let anyone get one over on him with something as silly as a prank gone wrong.)

“Oh wow, how pretty! No, I didn’t”, admitted James cheerfully and went to say hello to the cat. The cat graciously extended a paw, but more to swat away James’s hand than to actually shake hands with him. James attempted to shake hands with the cat anyway. 

The cat was indeed a beauty, with long, silky fur, shiny and sleek. It had long legs and an even longer tail and very large and refined ears. It could have been the feline version of Padfoot the dog, and why not Padfoot the man as well. Except the cat was definitely female, Lily decided. 

“Freya”, she said confidently, and James nodded serenely in agreement. They were now in possession of two Nordic deities, or perhaps it was the other way around. A mythological deity seemed fitting for a cat of that calibre, and Lily felt sure even the cat thought it had been done justice in the naming department.

They set about unpacking their boxes, both drinking copious amounts of water whilst ignoring their slight hang-overs, and respectfully left Freya and Freya’s cardboard box alone. 

Late in the afternoon there was a knock on the door. When Lily opened the door her first thought was “toadstools”. It quickly became apparent that the very old woman on the doorstep was not actually carrying a basket of poisonous mushrooms, but rather some sticky-looking and decidedly homemade cakes covered in red icing with white dots. The woman’s face was squinting up at Lily, giving the impression that one eye was much larger than the other, her mouth with its select few teeth was pulled up into a smile, but only on one side of her face. She seemed to be wearing many layers of earthy green and brown shawls on her body, but it didn’t successfully disguise that her back was crooked and maybe bent over somehow. Lily took an immediate liking to the old woman and had invited her into their new kitchen before the other woman had time to introduce herself.

“Bathilda Bagshot” she croaked once she was seated at the table. “Live five doors down. Toadstool teacakes are traditional to ward off the old spirits when new ones move in.” James, who had appeared from behind Bathilda, was shaking his head at Lily as if to say that toadstool teacakes were not, in fact, a traditional housewarming gift in the wizarding world. “But I see you’ve already got someone to help with the spirit-side of things”, continued Bathilda, and for a moment Lily felt as confused as James. Then the black cat jumped off the top shelf in the corner and stalked off into the sitting room clearly on a mission of its own, making things marginally clearer.

“I’ve written a lot of books on history and also a few romantic fictions set on Mars during the Martian uprising in the late 1000’s”, the hoarse voice continued, “so my name will be familiar. _Hogwarts a History_ ” she finished, as if that explained everything. Lily really hoped that _Hogwarts a History_ wasn’t actually about a Martian uprising, she had always interpreted the book as being about Hogwarts and its foundation in the 1000’s and subsequent history. 

“James Potter” said James, extending a hand for Bathilda to shake, “and this is Lily Evans” he continued with such innate pride that Lily felt herself melt a little bit. Rather like the sticky red teacakes on her kitchen table.

“I know who you are, of course,” Bathilda was indicating James. “You came here in the summers with your parents sometimes, didn’t you? You’ve got old roots in Godric’s Hollow, you’d be surprised. It’s nice to have you here though, living in sin with a muggleborn” she continued, but she was grinning that crooked smile again. “Good way to show the purists what you think of them.”

Lily decided that this woman merited some tea, and she flicked her wand to fill the kettle and set it to boil. James set the table and soon the three of them were contentedly drinking tea and munching away on the teacakes. The cat came in to check on them half-way through their meal but left them in peace. Lily decided that falling in love with James Potter and agreeing to move to Godric’s Hollow with him had been a stroke of genius on her part, she could sense that they would live happily ever after here. It was that kind of house.


	5. Never met a wise man, if so it’s a woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Nirvana's "Territorial Pissings".

They arrived only ten minutes late. Sirius had already conjured an elegant bouquet of roses and Lily-of-the-Valleys when Remus stepped out of the fireplace, and he hurriedly thrust a slightly sooty bottle of Elf-made wine into Lily’s free hand, whilst she complimented him on how well he looked. That was certainly a first. Remus was looking a lot smarter than he had been planning to, Sirius had ripped his shirt off last minute before leaving and summoned one of his own shirts for Remus to wear. After shrinking it a tiny bit it had been a perfect fit, it was an unusual pale gold colour Remus would never have picked out for himself, but that to his great surprise enhanced his complexion to a point where he looked downright healthy. Sirius hated that he was the one with the best eye for fashion out of the Marauders, and Remus resented most clothes because he had always been too poor to buy good quality ones for himself. Thus, Remus rarely ventured out looking anything but threadbare and second-hand. The occasion of James and Lily moving in together had made Sirius decide that it was a special evening, and hence he had forced his flatmate to wear something nice. 

“So this is the fabled cottage in Godric’s Hollow, then? Fab new digs, Prongs” Sirius was saying to James. 

“It’s brilliant, isn’t it?” James beamed, to Remus he looked rather like a proud parent hearing his first-born utter it’s first swear-word. “We even have a cat, look!” The cat in question was entering the front room, tail held high but quirked a little at the top, clearly a formal greeting. At the drop of a hat Sirius transformed and eagerly leaped towards the cat in dog-form, tail wagging.

“Told you Padfoot’s the canine equivalent of Freya” said Lily to no one in particular. “Aesthetically, not behaviourally. She showed up yesterday when we were unpacking, and we have it on good authority that she is a good omen when moving house.”

“Unlike the Grim, then”, Remus pointed out. Padfoot made a point of turning his back firmly on Remus and the two sleek, ink-black creatures greeted each other, in Freya’s case with awkward suspicion and in Padfoot’s case with boundless excitement. “Freya is an excellent name for her” Remus added approvingly. Sirius came back to his human form just then, still on all fours in front of the cat and with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. 

“She loves me, just look at her! Look at her pretty little face! Aren’t you a pretty kitty?” Sirius cooed at the vary-looking cat. Her tail was now twitching in mild irritation. 

“So tea is pretty much served, gents, if you’ll follow me to the kitchen” Lily said, hiding a smile behind her hand. Freya had pounced on Sirius’s hand when he had turned his head to listen to Lily. 

They all trooped after her and were soon seated at the candle-lit wooden table, which was overflowing with food. The wine Remus had brought was soon flowing and he could feel his stomach fill with food and laughter at an almost alarming rate. If he closed his eyes he could almost believe that he was back in the Great Hall in Hogwarts, the food was delicious (Remus had had no idea that James, or more likely Lily, knew how to cook) and the loud chatter and laughter combined with the heat from living candles further enforced the idea that this was just another Hogwarts feast. 

Remus began to zone out. He missed school more than he could say. School had meant safety, being surrounded by his friends wherever he went and being able to prepare for the real world, a future career and practising how to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Preparing for the next step was over now, and yet he didn’t feel as though he knew enough, as if he’d learnt all he was supposed to before facing the real world. He already had a tricky research project for the Order of the Phoenix which, at least to him, seemed incredibly important and daunting. What if somebody’s life ended up depending on him finding the right type of wards to use to hinder Dark Creatures from entering wizarding dwellings? It was all hypothetical, but it could become really important. He was also to start his new job at Flourish and Blotts the very next day, and the idea of having to get to know the shop keeper and the other employees scared him. To have to introduce himself to new people, try to make them tolerate him or even like him at the same time as he had to lie about his condition and about his part-time job at the Order felt wrong. It was what he had to do, and Remus was good at keeping his head down and quietly melting into the background. But what if it got too difficult at his workplace? They had all been sworn to secrecy about the Order and told that their cover stories for anything they did for the Order needed to be fool proof, or they might quickly end up targets for the Death Eaters. And how to hide his Lycanthropy? It would be fine for a month or two, but if his new co-workers were observant (and people who liked books usually were, in Remus’s experience) they might catch on rather quickly. 

Remus was brought back to reality by Lily’s careful nudge to his ribs. 

“You need to stop worrying, Remus. They’re lucky to have you at Flourish and Blotts, and you have this many friends who love you no matter what the future holds for you or any of us.” Lily gestured around the table, and then added with a mischievous smile: “besides, I think Freya is going to pounce on Sirius any second now.” Remus smiled back, content once more. Lily was uncanny at reading him, at reading all of them really, and she always said and did the right thing. The cat was lodged on top of the kitchen cupboards, and indeed seemed to have its keen eyes on Sirius’s head. They both turned their attention to the other three, in time to catch the tail-end of Sirius’s story.

“… so it’s no surprise Dung threw a right fit when I told him Gillyweed Jez is selling the same mushrooms for a sickle a pop. I mean I didn’t think anyone in their right mind would buy their illegal substances from Dung in the first place, personally I wouldn’t trust him around anything horticultural, but apparently that’s a branch of his business as well.”

“You’re not buying illicit horticultural produce from any of the aforementioned gentlemen, now are you, Sirius?” said Lily in a dangerously sweet voice. 

“Well I’ve never heard such a despicable accusation in my life,” replied Sirius quickly and flashed her a devastating smile designed to melt the hardest and most suspicious of hearts.

“Because you’re overpaying if you’re paying a sickle per psycho-euagaric”, Lily continued without dropping a beat. “Besides, I’m not taking care of the four of you if you go mad for the evening on anything self-inflicted.”

Remus started to laugh and Sirius’s face changed like a lightning bolt between supreme innocence and utter deviancy as he tipped his chair back onto its hind legs, and James was looking like the happiest man in the world. Peter caught Remus’s eye and mouthed “keeper” with a flicker of an eye towards Lily.

“Now, when you say a sickle per ‘shroom is overcharging it, do you mean to say you know where to – argh!” Sirius had thrown an arm out the better to bring Lily into the conversation, and the cat had seemingly taken this as her invitation to pounce. She landed precisely on Sirius’s head, her black fur shifting seamlessly into his long black hair, and he brought his arms protectively up towards his head as he lost his balance and the chair crashed backwards to the floor.

“Oh Pads, I rather think you’re in need of some more defence training. What if Freya here had been a Death Eater?” asked James whilst the rest of them laughed. Freya made her exit as quickly as possible, but not without a smug backwards glance at Sirius, who was roaring in mock fury and rubbing the back of his head, his back to the floor but his legs still comically draped over the prone chair.

“Your pussy loves me better than you Prongs, see how she can’t get enough of me?”

“About those mushrooms, Lily”, said Remus carefully, “I was told by a werewolf I’ve corresponded with in Germany that the active substance in this particular mushroom alleviates the effects the hours before the full moon, so the others have been trying to get hold of them for me.” This was only half the truth, and Remus was sure that Lily knew this as well, but she smiled sweetly at him and told him that she had seen some in the forest behind Godric’s Hollow where she had gone for a walk that morning. “I know Marlene likes things like that, so I was going to show them to her, but of course you can have them. There should be plenty more this summer too, it’s quite a common mushroom in the west of England. I’ve used it plenty of times when I make the PMS-potion for the girls as well,” Lily continued brightly. “If you want to try that potion for the full moon I’ll make you a batch too, it should work if that’s the active substance you’re wanting. The potion doesn’t make you hallucinate for more than a few seconds, either, so should be much better for your purposes, really” Lily added, now with a definite smirk.

Remus blushed and tried to think of a way around this, the hallucinations were supposed to be quite mellow and benign, and all four Marauders were eager to try it out. He also wasn’t too happy with the idea of taking a potion designed for combatting period pain, as the other Marauders already teased him mercilessly about his “time of the month”. Luckily Peter cut in here, having abandoned watching Sirius’s and James’s play-fight about who the cat loved better. 

“I think Remus will need a more potent thing than you ladies, not to diminish your pain or anything, but I think Remus should have the strongest stuff we can find”.

Remus shot him a thankful look and Lily grinned at them, he supposed she had just wanted to tease him a bit before giving in. 

“What’s this about ladies and our Moony being potent?” interrupted Sirius, raising his voice to maximize Remus’s embarrassment as the others laughed.

“We were just agreeing that he seems the most potent out of the four of you,” countered Lily, but this backfired on her as Sirius, quickly followed by Peter, pointed to James and howled with laughter. 

Bright red in the face, Remus busied himself with piling a small, but nonetheless his third, helping onto the plate. Maybe getting new co-workers and getting some time away from the people who loved him would not be so bad after all.


	6. If you close your eyes does it almost feel like nothing changed at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Bastille's "Pompeii".

Peter was starting a new job, too. He had never played quidditch on a proper team himself, no, but he had been to every quidditch match James had played, and even some of the Hogwarts matches James had not played. Therefore, Peter was plenty qualified to work in a quidditch supply shop, right? He knew that Cleansweeps were superior to all other brooms (why else would James fly one?) and from his own experiences on a broom he knew that padding on the knees, hands and groin were a must when riding a broomstick. Anything else he was confident he’d pick up from his new co-worker, and if he needed proper expertise he could always floo James. Sorted. As icing on the cauldron cake he would be having lunch with Remus today, since they were both working in Diagon Alley.

Peter arrived with a whole minute to spare at the Leaky Cauldron and scurried off to Quality Quidditch Supplies. He was greeted at the door by the owner, whose name he didn’t catch as he was too focused on introducing himself, and the other new worker. She was called Lakshana Rai, and Peter recognized her as having been on the Ravenclaw quidditch team for the last four years at least. They had been in the same year at Hogwarts. She seemed nice enough, but there was little time to get to know her as they were both immediately put to work. They were, in quick succession, showed how the magical till worked (“we only ever take credit from Malfoys and actual goblins, everyone else has to pay up front”), how to keep the shop tidy (“we use this really old model of the Supernova to sweep the floors, its branches have gone nice and soft with age”), how to answer any questions the customers might have (“ _Which Broom_ thinks it has all the answers, but some of their journalists are idiots, mark my words”) and finding your way around the stock room (“better accio anything you need, it’s been a while since I last did stock taking, so who knows what’s buried in there”).

All in all, Peter was at his most confident when he met Remus at 12.30 in the Leaky Cauldron (Remus had to be persuaded to go to an actual pub for lunch, rather than bringing his own sandwiches and eating them on a park bench). Remus was already there, with two pints of lager, looking happy but also nervous and exhausted, and Peter assumed he too had had an informative crash-course in how to run a shop. 

“Moony, I’m loving it! I was so very worried, but it’s all brilliant. We have this amazing stockroom that’s so full we can only barely open the door, and then the till has gotten a bit jammed up by being used magically, you see it’s an enchanted muggle contraption, originally, so we must use a hammer to get it open. That’s this sort of heavy, metal cutlery that you could use to kill someone, I believe that’s what muggles do with them. Of course you would know, being half muggle and all, did your mother ever bang a hammer into anyone?”

“Only into my auntie Faith when she made a nasty comment about my Mum’s choice in curtains” Remus laughed good-humouredly, and Peter grinned back at him. Adult life was really not as bad as he had feared, especially if he would get to see Remus on a daily basis during lunch break. 

“How are the books then?”

“The books are doing very well, thank you. Some are a bit old and worn around the edges, but most of them have rather shiny covers and crisp, new, unopened pages.”

“Bet you’re doing your best to open every single one of them.” Peter had a glint in his eye; their Moony was an infamous book worm.

“Actually, it’s rather weird to be around this many new books,” admitted Remus. “All of mine have had tea spilt on them by Padfoot, or are falling out of their covers because you and Prongs have thrown them around the dorm for James’s quidditch practice. And I rarely buy new books anyway, they’re usually second hand or from the library, so not new and pristine. I’m bloody scared of touching them too much, lest I muck them up and make them old-looking, because then nobody will want to buy them and give them a good forever-home.” Remus was leaning towards Peter as if he was confiding a great secret, and Peter was only too happy to play along. 

“You can’t lie to me, Moony,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I reckon you’re trying to give them all dog-ears so that nobody will buy them. You want to keep them all locked up in that shop of yours, that way you get to keep them all. It’ll be like your own private, twisted little library. Filled to the brim with brand new books nobody can buy, each with just the one dog ear or superficial scratch on the cover.”

Two large plates of fish and chips arrived just then, and they both stifled their laughter while rooting through condiments. Peter added heaps of tartar sauce and slightly less tomato ketchup, while Remus doused his chips in vinegar. How Moony didn’t have ulcers yet was beyond Peter. 

Back at the shop Peter had barely settled with the hammer in one hand behind the till when a radiant Marlene McKinnon burst through the doors, seemingly bringing the sun and all the stars with her. She really was that bright and difficult to look at, at least in Peter’s experience.

“So this is where you’re hiding these days! I knew at least one of us would land themselves an honest job. Did you hear about Mary? She’s selling gillyweed outside the Grumpy Bowtruckle on Thursdays and Saturdays. And Sirius takes his clothes off regularly in the backroom of the Hog’s Head. But I don’t think he’s getting paid for it, poor sod.” Marlene let out an exhilaratingly loud laugh that drew the attention of everyone else in the shop, but not, Peter noticed, in a bad way. Marlene had that effect on most everyone, perhaps especially on people she didn’t know. There were smiles all around now, and the shop owner, who was poking his head out of the stock room, was actually giving Peter a thumbs up as if it was he who was responsible for the new and giddy atmosphere in the shop. 

“Mary selling gillyweed?” Peter smiled and dared a look at the sparkling sunlight of a woman in front of him. “That will be the day. Sirius has been dropping his kit for free for years, though.”

Marlene gasped with laughter at that, said “don’t I know it”, and then proceeded to wrestle the hammer from Peter’s grip. He gave in almost immediately, embarrassed and extremely flattered by her close proximity.

“What’s this then, love?” she was asking, still giggling a little as if the sight was an amusing one.

“It’s a muggle thing. Called a hammer. I’m not sure exactly what its function is in the muggle world, but we use it to bang into the till to open it. Like this,” Peter wrestled the hammer back, fingers brushing Marlene’s and resulting in renewed butterflies in his stomach, and then he pounded the hammer into the side of the till. There was a loud ‘pling’ and a groan from the till as it opened, revealing an untidy heap of galleons, sickles and knuts. 

“That’s brilliant Pete, and how cool is this? I never knew you knew so much about muggle things.”

Peter blushed and closed the till with his hand, a shy smile lighting up his face. Compliments were rare treasure in his life, he got the occasional one from Lily or Remus, but they were few and far between, and he was pretty sure he could remember verbatim every single one they had ever given him. 

“Who else is working here? Anyone I know? Any hot men I don’t know?” Marlene was smiling broadly at him, her face was pink and dimply, and her eyes glittered like mischievous springs of water. Peter let himself be lost in them for two seconds before answering. 

“Just me and Lakshana. She was in our year, Ravenclaw you know.” Peter had already forgotten her last name.

Marlene pouted a bit at him, but her eyes were still laughing. 

“Bugger, I really needed a date tonight. You know what I mean, Pete?” Marlene was looking around the shop now, plenty of the customers, mostly men, who had been browsing were staring at her in awe. Peter, too, was in awe. He could not believe Marlene was actually asking what he thought she was asking.

“You’re asking me on a date?” he blurted out, bright pink in the face, his eyes and nose a bit runny from the emotion and stress he was suddenly experiencing. Marlene snapped back and looked stunned for all of a second, Peter wondered if she too was feeling a little bit embarrassed about deciding on a date so publicly. But then she was laughing again and nodding sweetly at him.

“Yes, that would be ideal, thank you Peter. Eight o’clock at the Leaky?”

Peter couldn't help a little squeak escape his lips, but he managed to get a nod in Marlene’s direction, his mouth gaping. She spent a few minutes browsing mindlessly in the shop while smiling and chatting to everyone in her vicinity, and then left. Peter realized his mouth was still hanging open, so he closed it to the best of his ability. The rest of his shift passed in a blur, but he could distinctly remember his new boss patting him on the back in congratulation. 

When 6 o’clock came and Peter was let off he had a big decision to make. Sirius was the one with really nice clothes and plenty of experience when it came to night-long relationships. James was the one with encouraging words and moderate experience with long-term relationships. 

Somewhat reluctantly, Peter found himself in Sirius’s and Remus’s sitting room, snacking on a banana and thinking that Remus at least would provide him with some kind words, something Sirius would inevitably be incapable of.

“You’ve got a date with Marlene?! You lucky wanker! She’s an epic shag, and she’s a great drunk.” Sirius was at least not being downright mean, even though the disbelief was evident. 

“Please tell me you weren’t drunk when you had sex with her, Padfoot,” Remus was saying sternly. 

“Oh yeah, she was your first, wasn’t she?” Peter said, as if he could have forgotten it. Listening to Sirius describe what sex was like had been a highlight in the spring term of third year, when no other students their age had ventured that far.

“First one that counted, yes” Sirius said, he was meeting Remus’s gaze almost defiantly, but definitely ignoring Peter’s. Peter sighed a little, annoyed at Sirius’s habit of competing for the spotlight even when he had no right to it. It was not as if Sirius and Marlene had ever dated properly, they had been little more than kids, and besides this was Peter’s night.

“I just want to look nice, and if you have a few tips on how to get the conversation going I'd appreciate it,” Peter said. 

Sirius groaned in annoyance but gave Peter a thorough look up and down before disappearing into his bedroom. 

“Marlene is a nice person, and she’s an excellent conversationalist. It shouldn’t be too hard unless you overthink it. Whatever you want to talk about she’s sure to have a story or an anecdote, and she loves a laugh so any joke or funny story should be good. Remember when James made her piss herself by doing that drunk-Dumbledore-reciting-sad-war-poetry monologue?” Remus said.

Peter nodded solemnly, this was all true. Fortunately, he wasn’t as funny as James and so he was unlikely to make her wet herself. He would settle for her gorgeous smile and the occasional giggle. Sirius returned with a cobalt-blue t-shirt, one of his many cast-off leather jackets and a trilby. 

“I think you might suit a hat,” Sirius said, almost sheepishly, as Peter reached for it and headed for the mirror in the bathroom. When he got back Sirius had loosened the size of the t-shirt and jacket a little bit, skin tight would be a bad idea on Peter, although he was far from as chubby as his friends constantly made him out to be for a laugh. Sirius had done a good job, as usual, and as Peter left their flat he conjured a single pink rose that he thought would rather suit Marlene.


	7. What a night for a dance, you know that I’m a dancing machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from "Revelry" by Kings of Leon.

If Marlene was quite honest with herself it had been a huge surprise when she ended up booking a date with Peter Pettigrew, of all people. Tubby, shy, nervous little Peter, who idolized his popular friends in an almost unhealthy way. But Marlene had reproached herself for these thoughts, there wasn’t anything properly wrong with Peter, and Marlene had no right to think anything but nice things about her friends. He was alright to look at, he was mostly kind and sometimes funny, and he had looked at her as if she had just made all his dreams come true, by the simple act of agreeing that they could go on a date tonight. Merlin knew she needed a shag, it had been almost a week, what with exam parties and moving away from Hogwarts. Peter would certainly do, the inexperienced were sometimes a lot of fun, especially if he would keep that look of complete awe on his face while she rode him. 

Marlene giggled a little to herself, and then stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. It was not a busy night, being a Monday, and she found him immediately. He had found them a good table, tucked away in a corner but still close to the epicentre of the pub, which consisted of Tom’s bar/reception on one side and a patch of floor sometimes used as a dancefloor on the other. Peter was clutching at a rose with no thorns and a meaty, pink flower, and Marlene felt a surge of affection for her date. How sweet of him to bring her a flower, even if it was clearly of his own making. He was also looking much more dapper than usual, Marlene thought she recognized the jacket as one of Sirius’s.

“Sorry I’m late, you haven’t been waiting for too long, have you?” Marlene said, then grinned broadly as she was handed the flower. “You are so thoughtful Peter, that’s lovely. Thank you!”

She settled in happily, Peter got them both beers, and she let the anecdotes flow, trying to get him eased up. He had probably heard some of them before, she figured, but he was blushing and smiling sweetly at the table for most of the time, seemingly too nervous to properly listen to her or look at her, so what she said was unlikely to matter. Finally, after two pints each and after a story about Marlene and Lily sneaking out to pet a unicorn Professor Kettleburn had been rumoured to keep in his bedroom, Peter seemed to realize that he, too, could contribute to the conversation. Marlene was then treated to a surprisingly amusing story about James transfiguring Remus to look like a unicorn from a distance, apparently it had all been to fool McGonagall. The four of them had been spending some time behind greenhouse number 2 after hours, at a time when Remus was supposed to be in detention with McGonagall. She had left him to his own devices cleaning tables in the Great Hall, resulting in him sneaking out for a quick smoke with the other Marauders. They had then been surprised by McGonagall’s imposing figure in the distance, and James had put in some quick spellwork to disguise their truant friend. They had all been too stoned by then to realize it would be smarter for Remus to just run and hide, and as McGonagall caught up with them they realized nobody had had the good sense to throw the weed away. Peter, James and Sirius had been marched off to detention while the shimmering figure of Remus Lupin had cantered off into the distance on his new hooves, desperately trying to undo the advanced and highly inconvenient transfiguration. 

Marlene laughed until she cried, and then she leaned in and kissed Peter. He yelped in surprise, then blushed, and then leaned in to return the kiss. On her insistence they hit the empty dancefloor, Marlene would be damned if she ever went out without getting at least one dance in. To her pleasant surprise Peter was a decent dancer; not as good as her of course, but certainly decent. Peter also knew all the words to “Take a Chance on Me”, which further endeared him to Marlene. He roared the ABBA-song at her with a passion that could only be got from being half-pissed, and she reciprocated by putting the rose he’d made her between her teeth and pretending to be a ballerina on the dancefloor. The few other patrons of the bar applauded spiritedly when the song finished. She got Peter and the rose back to her house not long afterwards; the night was still young, but she had what she wanted. 

Marlene still lived with her parents and her brother and sister, but the house was big, and it was surprisingly easy to sneak people in. Not that she really had to sneak anymore, she supposed, she was of age now and she’d graduated and everything. Her parents owned a specialized apothecary at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley, where customers could order rare potion ingredients. Marlene had started working part time there, her parents were getting on and needed all the help they could get, especially in the changing political climate. It was a cosy family business, or at least it had been before the impending war. Nowadays, many of the customers were sketchy types looking for dangerous ingredients, and Marlene’s parents were becoming selective with who they ordered classified substances for. This had led to threatening letters arriving to their home, suggesting the McKinnon’s needed to reconsider their political stance. Once three men in dark, hooded robes wearing some sort of silver masks in front of their faces had shown up at the apothecary, and threatened Marlene’s mother at wandpoint. She had been forced to give them a pitcher of Lethifold breath, but fortunately they had not been stocking the other ingredients the cloaked men had wanted, and they had left without hurting her. They had reported the incident to Magical Law Enforcement, of course, but it seemed that the Ministry was flooded with similar complaints and could do very little about it since nobody knew who the terrors in silver masks were. Marlene’s parents had decided on earlier closing times for their shop, and that they would always have to be two behind the counter from now on. Thus, Marlene found herself agreeing to postpone her apprenticeship at the children’s maladies department at St Mungo’s, and work part time for her parents instead. The rest of her time would be taken up by the Order, anyway.

Marlene had rather a good idea who the cloaked men in silver masks were, and after the incident she had told her parents some of what she knew. She hadn’t told them about the Order, though, because the less they knew about them and her own involvement, the safer they would be. It was better that her parents continued to believe that she was leading a carefree, entertainment-chasing existence. Dumbledore had warned all the new Order recruits not to tell anyone about the secret organization, as there was a real risk of them becoming targets once Voldemort figured out that there was a proper organization working against him, rather than some individual vigilantes. 

The Order of the Phoenix had, to their horror, realized that Voldemort’s own secret organization had gained an alarming number of members during the last year or so. It had gone from a dangerous leader with a small core of fanatic followers trying to gain political power in the open (the status quo for nigh on 20 years) to a radicalized terrorist group that had changed its name and gone largely underground, gaining dozens of young supporters and old pureblood families who would fund them behind the scenes and support their causes politically. The old purist movement who catered to the extremest of the pureblood families seemed to be completely on board with Voldemort now. The Death Eaters suddenly had far-reaching tentacles throughout the Ministry, as well as in the _Daily Prophet_ and in St Mungo’s. The Arithmancy professor at Hogwarts was rumoured to be a Voldemort supporter, maybe even an actual Death Eater. 

Voldemort had been very clever about it, Dumbledore had explained at their first meeting. He had fronted a loud but largely failing political movement for so long that nobody had noticed what he got up to behind the scenes. Voldemort and his supporters were assumed to be using partly the blood purity movement, partly blackmail and partly the promise of power and riches to convert new (and old) people to his cause. The inner circle consisting of the people called Death Eaters were a completely anonymous organization, meaning nobody except Voldemort himself knew who they were, and it had taken a long time for anyone to read the signs correctly. The Bones siblings and Alastor Moody had independently contacted Dumbledore with their suspicions a couple of year ago, and Dumbledore had responded by founding the secret society known as the Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort did not have control of any of the Wizarding institutions, but Dumbledore was sure his end-goal was a complete take-over. It was a dark time to become an adult witch in, Marlene thought, but at least most of her friends had decided to join the Order alongside her, and surely they could have plenty of fun on the job.

Marlene had always lived for a good laugh, a drink amongst friends, and a quick twirl on the dancefloor, but she could fight too. 

It was with this in mind that she entered the house of Emmeline Vance, close friend of the Bones’ and one of the first to have joined the Order. The meeting on this particular summers’ day was to be held in her house.


	8. If you tolerate this then your children will be next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the Manic Street Preacher's song of the same name.

Dorcas was the last one to arrive at Emmeline Vance’s house. It was a rather picturesque stone house with a garden filled with blossoming rosebushes and knobbly apple trees burgeoning with unripe fruit, promising a killing come autumn. The house was much larger on the inside than its façade would have led one to believe. The whole of the Order was gathered in a drawing room filled with velvet cushions and expensive-looking landscapes in oil. The hostess was doing her best to serve tea, but there were significantly more people in the room than teacups. Dorcas discreetly conjured up a passable replica of the teacups in the room (fragile-looking things with bright autumn leaves and a gold rim) and she extended her cup towards Emmeline and the teapot.

Peter and Marlene were sitting close together on a sofa, both looking very at home so close together. Remus, James and Sirius were nearby, laughing and cracking rude jokes that felt out of place in the refined room. Lily was conversing quietly with Mary, who looked as if she would rather be anywhere but here. Benjy, Gideon and Fabian were chatting amongst themselves, as were Alice and Frank Longbottom. The pair had gotten married that spring, and to Dorcas they seemed to be very much stuck in the honey-moon phase. There ended the Order members her age, the rest were all a bit older. Emmeline Vance was a strikingly handsome woman of middle age and suited her home to perfection. Hestia Jones and Elphias Doge were people Dorcas recognized vaguely as Ministry workers. Isolde Bones was the editor of the _Daily Prophet_ and rumoured to be a close friend of Dumbledore’s. Her brother Edgar Bones and his wife Elfrida were both healers at St Mungo’s, but the second sister Amelia was not present, maybe she wasn’t an Order member after all. Caradoc Dearborn was a senior nurse at St Mungo’s. Alastor Moody was head auror, and his rugged face and intense stare was definitely the most frightening thing in the room. An elderly woman with no apparent magical powers was just introducing herself as Arabella Figg to Lily and Mary. Professor McGonagall and Rubeus Hagrid were familiar faces from Hogwarts, and they were both looking around proudly at the recently graduated students. Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore were the last two in the room, they were quarrelling in low voices in the corner, playfully if Dorcas went by the Headmaster’s face and angrily if she went by his brother’s. 

“I want to welcome all our new and old members to the Order of the Phoenix”, Professor Dumbledore said, bringing all other conversations to a stand-still. “As you can see, we have grown significantly as an organization, and I decided on a full meeting so that you would all get the chance to greet each other. I hope you will all feel welcome in our ranks and valued for your particular skills and knowledge. You are all needed in the fight against evil. All in this room recognize the great threat that Voldemort and his supporters pose to the wizarding and muggle communities alike and you have decided to help in the effort against darkness. Thank you all, and cheers!” Dumbledore raised his teacup, little finger sticking out elegantly to the side.

“To the Order of the Phoenix” and “Cheers” rang out across the room, and Dorcas drank heartily from her teacup. As the chatter resumed she set her eyes on Isolde Bones, and decided to ask her straight up for a trainee position at the _Prophet_. Maybe her bluntness would surprise the other woman enough to give her a job. 

As it turned out Dorcas was given two jobs that day. Dumbledore had separated her from the other new recruits, who would all be doing field work, and told her that she was needed for special research. She was to meet him for sherry in his office later that evening for further instructions. Dorcas wondered if they made a habit of separating the recruits that weren’t Gryffindors from the others. Alice, who had been in Hufflepuff a few years ahead of Dorcas oversaw schedules and economics, all the other youngsters were Gryffindors and working in the field, as far as Dorcas knew. She was also given a freelance traineeship for the _Daily Prophet_ , just for the summer but with the chance of an extension or even a desk job if she did well. 

She flooed in to the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts punctually, and was offered sherry and some Italian biscuits. It was all rather daunting, Dorcas had never properly spoken to Dumbledore before, let alone one on one in his office. But the sherry, be it old fashioned and not something Dorcas had ever drunk before, helped with her nerves, and after exchanging pleasantries Dumbledore went straight to business. 

“Isolde and Emmeline have been my primary research team since the beginning of the Order, but with Voldemort’s new recruits we have hit an age barrier of sorts. I need to know more about the new recruits, and I need a researcher who is a contemporary with this new generation of Death Eater. You strike me as perfect for this, especially being a Hufflepuff. Hufflepuffs are, in my humble experience, the admirable type of person who notices people and socializes across house divisions. You also strike me as a natural researcher, my dear miss Meadowes.”

Dorcas nodded at this, she was certainly observant, a good researcher and she had always been a bit of a gossip. She knew a lot about other people. She decided it was best not to question how Dumbledore could know all of this about her, it had been suggested before that he was omnipresent, and this seemed quite likely now that she was talking to him.

“Good, it’s settled then. I have taken a particular interest in Death Eaters who might still be persuaded to jump ship, as it were. I have two names in mind right now that I want you to try to familiarize yourself with. I am almost certain they have both joined the Death Eaters this last year. Additionally, any information on others is very good indeed, Isolde and Emmeline will both be in touch with you and show you what we have on file already. For your information I will also let you know that Emmeline’s special project has been to figure out what special task Voldemort has given to the two Death Eaters Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. If any of your findings can relate to this in any way it is of the utmost importance that you contact Emmeline immediately.”

Dorcas nodded again to signal that she understood and was happy to accept her task. “Who are the two possible new recruits you want me to focus on?”

“Regulus Black and Severus Snape,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, his eyes twinkly but inscrutable. “From what I know of them they are likely to rise quickly in the ranks, and there is just a chance that one of them could be persuaded to turn spy for our side. Not a large chance, mind, but it is an avenue I think is worth exploring. Now, miss Meadowes, I expect to see you here in a month’s time to inform me of the progress, if there is any. I have two further interviews this evening, so you will have to excuse me for now.”

Dorcas had barely gotten up from her chair when Mary MacDonald arrived through the floo, looking unhappy and ill at ease. Dorcas smiled to her in greeting before shouting “The Leaky Cauldron” into the green flames. She deserved a drink after today, and the Leaky was as good a place as any to start canvasing for gossip. 

It was Saturday, and the Leaky was filled with loud customers. The Leaky Cauldron was an institution in the wizarding world, Tom the bartender referred to it as the common room of wizarding Britain. While this was definitely an exaggeration, Dorcas could agree that the pub functioned as a meeting place for wizards and witches from all over the country, it was reasonably family friendly, the drinks were not extortionate, and the food was surprisingly good. She ordered her favourite Elderberry schnapps and tonic and joined one of the rowdier tables. She recognized her fellow Hufflepuff Anita MacMillan and Sirius and Remus. Anita lived in Northern Ireland, so she had come far for her night out. Sirius’s and Remus’s flat was in run-down Mile End, which had a famously seedy wizarding bar of its own, but Dorcas could see why they would prefer to come here. 

“Anita, how are you? What have you been up to since graduation, found a job yet?” Dorcas asked. She listened with half an ear to Anita’s response (something about a horticultural centre in Belfast), but really her attention was on the neighbouring table. Two hooded figures were having a conversation about Severus Snape. One of them was being purposefully quiet, but the other one sounded as if he was too drunk for such precautions. There wasn’t much she could hear, but at least Dorcas found out that Snape was the new and promising potioneer for the apothecary in Knockturn Alley. Dorcas remembered Snape from Hogwarts, and she wasn’t surprised that he was making potions in a professional capacity. He had been the best potioneer in the whole school, not just their year. 

Anita had apparently given up on trying to talk to Dorcas, because when it became impossible to eavesdrop on the neighbours she found herself next to Remus Lupin. He was eyeing her curiously.

“I’m gathering intel for Dumbledore”, she explained quietly, wondering how much she was allowed to talk about her mission. Dumbledore hadn’t said she couldn’t talk about it to other Order members, but something was telling her that it might be better to keep the details to herself. 

“Ah, you too? I was wondering how many he was singling out for research.”

“Are you supposed to find out more about certain Death Eaters as well?” asked Dorcas, deciding that she maybe needn’t be so cautious with Remus after all. 

“Not quite, I have my own little project.” He was smiling, and his eyes were so kind that Dorcas almost didn’t register that he had decided not to share it with her.

“Having a good night?” she asked instead, smiling back at him and deciding to let the subject drop.

“Tonight is a relief, to be honest. We spent all of last night in this really grotty bar called the Grumpy Bowtruckle, it’s right around the corner from the flat. It was terrifying, bit like the Hog’s Head, but even filthier if you can imagine. Filled with smoke so that you can’t see anyone’s face, and this great dirty metal pole in the middle of the room. They were selling three different drinks there; beer, Firewhisky and then this third green one that they put on fire for you if you ordered it. Of course Sirius had to order it, repeatedly, with disastrous results. Anyway, I had to more or less wrench him off the pole, I think he was trying to climb up it. Then there was this really monstrous woman, personally I think she may have been a banshee. Anyway, had to wrench Sirius off her as well at some point, he really has no standards after a few drinks, and she would definitely have murdered him if he’d gone home with her. Some weird, ritualistic sex-murder, no doubt, and you would’ve gotten to write about it for the _Prophet_. Speaking of which, congrats on the job!”

“Thank you, I’m pretty chuffed to be honest. And that bar sounds amazing, you’ll have to give me a floo call next time you go. How’s Flourish and Blotts? You’ve been there a month now, right?”

“Yep. It’s really good, actually, I do have a longstanding infatuation with books of all shapes and sizes. The manager has been brilliant as well, gives me such a good discount that I come home with a new book almost every night.”

“You’re sounding like Sirius now, coming home with a new one every night,” Dorcas raised her voice as she said this to try and annoy Sirius. He was tongue-deep in Anita MacMillan, but opened his eyes at her words, signalling that he had been listening in. 

Remus looked back fondly at his flatmate, but didn’t comment, and they spent the rest of the night discussing advanced warding methods, something Remus seemed to have taken a great interest in. Dorcas knew little on the subject, but she was fast on the uptake and thought she managed to ask all the right questions. He had always struck her as someone who listened as much as she did, and if she got to know him better she could no doubt press him for all the gossip he knew. Snape had been in his year, after all, and he was probably the best Marauder to ask about Regulus Black as well. 

When she flooed home in the small hours to her new flat in York she could only congratulate herself on what a great day it had been. She had two exciting new jobs to look forward to, and both would require her to be social and talk to people. Nothing could be better than that.


	9. All the kids they say, live to fight another day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Kasabian's "Stevie". 
> 
> This chapter contains character death and implied sexual violence.

It wasn’t always as much fun to be half of a pair as it was made out to be. Couples were boring and sometimes embarrassing in their behaviour (like Lily and James right now, desperately pawing and crying at each other). Being one of an identical pair of twins came with a different set of problems. People were disappointed if just one of you showed up, maybe because people couldn’t tell which one you were and had to guess, or maybe because showing up alone meant that the vital part of the double act was missing. You simply weren’t seen as very funny anymore. 

This was the first fight for the Order that Gideon hadn’t had Fabian at his side. There had been a sudden increase in fights, from just two in 1977 and one in the spring of ’78, there had been no fewer than four in July and August. The Death Eaters were becoming a serious threat even though most people in the wizarding community didn’t know about them yet. And Fabian had been there by his side for all of it. Until tonight. 

The twins had been doing reconnaissance work with James and Sirius throughout the summer, and it had been working well, splendidly even for the most part. Gideon had almost forgotten to feel awkward around Sirius by now. James had the sharpest reflexes out of anyone Gideon had ever met, and a skill that was both surprising in its display of power and in its variation. Most fighters stuck to a handful of spells they knew well, but James’ mind (the mind of a natural joker who was quick on his feet and with an effortlessly witty turn of phrase) was all over the magical shop, and he never failed to surprise his opponents. Sirius was less creative, but his spellwork was unusually powerful and almost always non-verbal. He also had about five personal vendettas on the go with confirmed Death Eaters, and Gideon thought that at this stage it was likely that it was more dumb luck than actual power that kept him alive. Tonight had been another close call for those two, and even though Gideon had seen most of their fighting from a distance it still made his blood run cold. Their near escape wasn’t the only reason his vascular system felt like it was pumping around a freezing potion rather than blood, either. Sirius and James had done well, all things considered. They had cheated death yet again. But Gideon, what had he done? In a way he supposed he had cheated death, too. Or maybe it was really Fabian who had cheated death tonight. It could so easily have been him, and then Gideon would have been one man short for the greatest double act he knew.

Fabian had been looking peaky even after some pepper-up potion (courtesy of Lily, who had taken on the role as the Order’s resident potion maker), and the new recruit had been quick to volunteer to take his place. The new recruit was a Weasley, some unspecified cousin of Arthur’s, and this meant that Gideon felt more than a little responsible for him. Barnaby Weasley, that had been his name.

Gideon, Barnaby, James and Sirius had been briefed by Moody and subsequently apparated away to Aberdeen. None of them were familiar with any other parts of Scotland than Hogsmeade and they had a bit of trouble finding their intended destination. But they had all been in good spirits, James and Sirius cracking jokes like yet another comedic duo, Gideon thought they could have been twins too. Or a couple. 

Aberdeen was all grey, save the yellow leaves on the grey tree trunks. The address they had been given took them close to the harbour, to an area that was as run-down as it was likely to get before the muggle council had to take action. The muggle who lived in the house they were interested in had contacted the muggle law enforcement to report that two men in dark cloaks were stalking her house. The Order had a new member called Sturgis Podmore, the most recent ex-husband of Isolde Bones. He had been leading a mostly muggle life and worked for something called ‘999’. Gideon had yet to figure out exactly what that meant, but somehow his work seemed to give Podmore access to information on all emergencies that happened in the muggle world. The Order had therefore been called out to new addresses at increasingly quicker notice, and this was such an occasion. 

Gideon and Barnaby, it was decided, were to sneak into the back garden of the muggle would-be victims, and Sirius and James would try to locate the men in cloaks on the front street and ambush them. Gideon had kept Barnaby close to him, and they had successfully snuck into the correct, ill-kempt garden. It had not been long until they had heard the first tell-tale signs of a commotion. They had quickly rounded the corner to get to the front of the house and had been met by three Death Eaters, Sirius, James and what could well have been fireworks. The door to the muggle dwelling had been open, and Gideon had stupidly told Barnaby to go in there and calm down the muggles. Stupid, stupid. Gideon had immediately set to work by duelling the closest opponent. 

In the corner of his eye he could see James throwing fistfuls of spiders at his opponent, who cowered and screamed, an arachnophobe if Gideon had ever seen one. This left James free to conjure up thick, rustic-looking ropes that wound themselves around the Death Eater, and then a thick, foul-smelling purple cloud that draped itself around his head, slowly asphyxiating him with the smell of rotting doxy eggs. Sirius had just managed to stun his Death Eater as well when there were two loud cracks of apparition, and their opponents were evenly numbered again. The loud shriek of glee, a woman’s shriek, also told Gideon who one of the new arrivals were. Bellatrix Lestrange was often jokingly said to be insane, but in a fight insanity became less easy to laugh at. The realization that she was fighting her blood-traitor cousin seemed to send her into a frenzy all on its own and Gideon could hear her direct her wand to perform torture-curse after torture-curse with increasing enthusiasm as she missed.

James was fighting someone that could be one of the Lestrange brothers, although he was not nearly as vocal as her, making it difficult to know for sure. Gideon had no idea who he was fighting, the man was slight and sounded young. His opponent was resorting mostly to non-verbal magic of a dangerous but not lethal variety. The cruciatus curse changed into the killing curse on Bellatrix’s part, she was still aiming for Sirius, and this seemed to bring out an extreme bout of creative energy or fury from James. A tornado formed out of nowhere, whipping gravel and dead leaves from the pavement before crashing into Bellatrix. Gideon thought it must have hurt, the gravel was being whipped through the air at an unfortunate speed for human skin and he could hear Bellatrix disapparate immediately. As if this had been a sign, the Lestrange brother and Gideon’s mystery opponent apparated away as well. But Gideon’s opponent didn’t actually leave the scene, he simply appeared at the side of his tied-up comrades that James and Sirius had disposed of minutes earlier, grabbed them, and managed to apparate both of them away. No mean feat, Gideon had to admit, he didn’t know many people who could side-along more than one person.

With a sickening lurch to his stomach Gideon heard yet another crack of apparition. It came from the muggle house he had been fighting outside of. The house which front door had been wide open when he and Barnaby arrived.

Swearing loudly Gideon threw himself into the house. It was worse than he had expected. Barnaby was dead, of course, Gideon had known that as soon as he heard that last crack of apparition. It was the muggle woman that really got to him. Once he saw her, he knew that there could be no redemption for some people. As he threw up as violently and extensively as he ever had in his life, James and Sirius joined him in the house. James kept repeating that he hoped the child had been killed first, so that it didn’t have to watch. He started to sound like a record needle stuck in a broken groove, a record that became hoarser and raspier with each repeat. Sirius had conjured up dark blue blankets for the three bodies and covered them up, the muggle woman first. Gideon could see him doing it during a particularly all-encompassing retch that made him hit the floor. 

When the aurors arrived, at long last, they wanted every detail and Gideon felt that his answers were inadequate. They had been briefed on what to say in circumstances like this, of course, and the aurors couldn’t disprove that the four of them hadn’t been visiting Aberdeen harbour to see the wild dolphins that dwelled there almost daily. That they had just stumbled upon a gruesome muggle attack. Gideon had to explain that it was he who had suggested Barnaby go in and calm down the muggles. The muggle mother and her young son who had recently turned 11. The boy must have received his Hogwarts letter not long ago, and the school had probably sent one of the staff over to explain the magical world to the boy and his muggle mother. Gideon wondered which of his old professors had been here, in this house of violent death. His money was on McGonagall, she seemed like the right mix of intelligence and authority to send. 

The three remaining Order members went back to Godric’s Hollow when the aurors were done taking statements. Although the fight hadn’t lasted very long the taking of statements had taken hours and it was a nigh on hysterical Lily who met them at the garden gate. Remus and Peter were inside, and Gideon and Sirius left Lily alone with James and joined the other Marauders. They were almost as distraught a Lily. Gideon listened to Sirius’s retelling of what had happened without participating himself, he couldn’t stop thinking about the what ifs. What if Fabian hadn’t been sick today, and Gideon had ordered his twin to go into that house without checking? What if he had gone in himself? What if James and Sirius had been lesser show-offs and had overpowered their opponents quicker? They could have helped Gideon with his, then they could have checked inside the house sooner. It was all terribly unhelpful, but at least it kept the image of the woman’s corpse out. 

Gideon picked up what remained of his courage, he had to go see Arthur Weasley. He had no idea what branch of the extensive Weasley-family Barnaby belonged to, but he would have to apologize to them. They wouldn’t think it was his fault, but he had his responsibilities.

And then he had to go home and tell Fabian about it. Funny, confident, easy-going Fabian. Who could have died tonight and who had no idea about the horrors his other half was presently going through. The good thing about other halves, however, was that they knew how to make the other one whole again. Gideon couldn’t wait to go home.


	10. You and all your vibrant youth, how could anything bad ever happen to you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Hunger" by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> Warning for general angst in this chapter.

The pallor in Sirius’s and Gideon’s faces as they entered was absolutely ashen. Gideon didn’t speak a word and left after just a few minutes without saying goodbye. Sirius was at least talking, which was a relief. Remus had seen him at his worst, when he was so broken and miserable he couldn’t speak. This wasn’t it. Sirius explained it in rather too great a detail: the new guy, Barnaby, how eager he had been to go with them to scare off some potential Death Eaters. The split up and the three who had been waiting right outside the house. The one that had almost certainly been Sirius’s estranged brother. How they had overpowered two, only to have two more arrive. Bellatrix and her brother-in-law, that meant three Death Eaters who knew Sirius personally. Bellatrix had immediately started firing Unforgivable curses around, and James had been fantastic as always and conjured up a tornado. They had fled, seemingly defeated. Then the sound of swearing and vomiting coming from the house. Gideon had not been alright. But of course, the muggles and Barnaby Weasley had been even worse off. When Sirius started describing what had been done to the corpses Peter shut him up almost before he got started. For once Sirius had mercy on him and fell quiet.

Remus wanted to hug them both, but just then James and Lily walked in, Freya the cat draped protectively over Lily’s shoulders. James was crying openly, and he headed straight for Sirius and toppled onto him in the armchair. They were both long-limbed and powerfully built men (James from years of incessant quidditch training and Sirius from a lucky draw in the genetic lottery), and the armchair little. If James hadn’t been crying Remus was certain he would have laughed at the sight of them. Sirius was acting less emotionally stunted than usual, and carefully hugging and caressing James. It seemed to help with the panic attack, or whatever this was, and by the time Lily got back to the Marauders with two bottles of Firewhisky and no glasses James was breathing normally and twisting around to sit in Sirius’s lap rather than the uncomfortable-looking face-first clinging he had started out with. 

Peter, who had been nervously watching Remus and ignoring the armchair visibly relaxed as he was handed one of the bottles. Lily took a deep draught of the other one and then handed it to Sirius. Remus slid down onto the rug and crawled towards Peter and Lily on the sofa, he needed to be closer to one of the bottles, no matter if it was a Thursday and he had work in the morning. The first gulp of whisky revived Remus no end, the fear of having lost two of his best friends melting away leaving a pure sense of relief. He smiled carefully at the two in the armchair, Sirius was busy chugging the bottle, but James looked himself again, be it a little sheepish and wet, and he gave Remus a genuine smile that warmed even more than the whisky did. 

“How close were you to dying tonight?” Remus asked quietly. There had been close calls before, but he had not found out about them until after the event. The waiting around for what felt like hours without news had been a new and unbearable experience.

“That Lestrange woman really wants to off this one”, James said hoarsely, trying out a playfully confidential tone whilst stroking Sirius’s chest. Sirius was still drinking from the bottle, it looked as if he’d finished almost half already.

“You should change your last name, Sirius, maybe that would stop them. Or wear a disguise.” Lily was hovering between a serious suggestion and a joke.

“She could just as easily have hit Prongs, she has shit aim,” said Sirius, finally letting James have a go at the bottle. Lily, in turn, upended her bottle against her mouth at this statement. 

“So Wormtail, tell us about Marlene?” James said, changing the subject. “You two looked all loved up during the last Order meeting?”

“Oh. I reckon it’s going rather well. She always seems happy to see me, that’s a good sign, right?”

“That’s the best sign there is, Peter. I’m so glad you two have found each other,” Lily said.

“Shagged her yet?” was Sirius’s contribution, and both Remus and Lily groaned in despair. 

“Don’t answer him Wormtail,” Remus said as Peter opened his mouth to answer. “You’re happy, and she is happy, that’s all we need to know.”

“What about you Remus, anyone new in your life? Any cute bookworm tried to chat you up in the palmistry and astrology aisle?”

“More likely in the self-help aisle”, came a mutter from the armchair, but Remus couldn’t see which one was responsible for it, and he chuckled along with the others.

“No, you know me, I’ve only got eyes for my books. That’s no joke either, I still can’t believe I’ve landed my dream job straight out of school. They’re even letting me order in the new books for September.”

“Sounds thrilling,” said Lily sweetly and handed him the bottle. They were making quick work of it.

“And you’ve been tasked with brewing potions for the Order?” 

“Yes, I’ve got a huge batch of Polyjuice on the go in the spare bedroom as we speak. Elfrida Bones is adamant we don’t use Polyjuice to transform into anyone outside of the Order, though, she says it’s morally reprehensible if the Death Eaters start hunting the people we’re using as disguises. After tonight I’m thinking maybe we should, anyway. She approves of the healing ones, of course. I’m researching plenty of different ones, but they have a bad shelf life so only small batches at a time.” Remus nodded. There had been more fights the past few months, increasing the Order’s need for potions. 

“Lily, James has fallen asleep. Want me to carry him to your bedroom?”

“Yes please, Sirius.” Lily showed him the way upstairs and Peter decided that this was his cue to leave. Before he got into the floo Remus took him aside.

“I’m really so happy that you’re seeing Marlene, it makes sense that you’d be good for each other.” Remus was stretching the truth here, Marlene was thoughtless, over-confident and an annoying textbook definition of a social butterfly, while Peter, who was shy around all women and always tried his hardest at the wrong time had an inferiority complex the size of the giant squid. 

Peter looked movingly grateful at Remus’s comment, even as he pretended to joke around it. Remus supposed that there were positives, too. They were both inherently kind people, and Marlene was sure to boost Peter’s confidence at least as much as she was sure to accidentally bring him down. And Peter, well Peter would probably put her on the highest pedestal he could reach, and some women liked that sort of thing. Maybe Marlene was one.

Sirius came back alone, Lily having decided that she was too drunk to walk back downstairs, and they carried the empty Firewhisky bottles to the kitchen before flooing back to London. 

Mile End was filled with late night revellers looking the worse for wear, Thursday was quite the party night for the unemployed and the students. They got some chips from an all-night kiosk and ate them in the flat. 

“Surely that amount of vinegar can’t be safe for any one man to consume?” grumbled Sirius, but he was looking more fond than anything.

“Says the man who thinks he needs both ketchup and mayo with his chips.”

“I think mayo’s good for the stomach lining, means I can drink more. You should try it someday, might make you less of a light-weight.”

Remus sniffed indignantly. They both knew he was no light-weight, he was sure he could drink Sirius under the table on any given night. Or perhaps not right before the full moon. 

“Were you alright, seeing them again?”

“Who, Regulus? I mean, I think I’m alright. I had an inkling before tonight that he might have joined, but of course it’s not nearly as satisfying as it should be to be proven right when it means your stupid git of a brother has a fucking snake-tattoo. Plenty of nice tattoo-designs out there, I don’t see why he had to go for that particular one.”

“And Bellatrix?”

“What about her?” Sirius’s voice was much sharper now. Remus had tried to breach the subject before, but this was decidedly not the night. But then Sirius continued: “She’s probably the one who’s taught the young Death Eater boys about the joys of rape and murder. Be right up her street to do practical demonstrations and set up work-shops if you ask me.” He was meeting Remus’s eye, but there was no emotion there, not even defiance. Remus recoiled and changed the subject.

“There’s an anti-racism protest in Brick Lane tomorrow, would you like to come? It’ll be completely muggle, of course, but I think we rather agree with their sentiment. Dorcas and Marlene are both going.”

“Sure, I’ll come”, Sirius said to Remus’s surprise. He was sure Sirius had no idea what a demonstration was, but maybe he had sensed that it was the rebel thing to do in the muggle world. Sirius was uncanny that way. “What does one wear to a demonstration, then?”

“If you want to stop people from thinking that you’re a secret fashionista you need to stop letting sentences like that slip past your lips.”

Sirius scowled at him and finished the last chip from Remus’s plate before he could stop him.

After work the next day Remus let Sirius dress them both up. Of course, he didn’t express it like that, but Remus knew better than anyone than some people needed to be indulged. Remus had mentioned that flowers and bright colours had been popular amongst the protesters in the late 60’s, which had frustrated Sirius until Remus assured him that leather jackets would be a good fit for a late 70’s demonstration. Sirius found them both leather jackets he adorned with a large purple rose in the highest button hole, lent Remus some nice trousers, and as usual when Sirius had a hand in things, Remus left the flat feeling both uncomfortable and secretly pleased with his appearance. At least there would be no one looking pityingly at him today. He was also bringing a sign along for them saying “Racism does not belong in our magical world”, and he was rather pleased with it.


	11. Did you see the stylish kids in the riot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "Time for Heroes" by the Libertines.

The demonstration was a laugh. Dorcas was half muggle, just like Remus, and the two of them spent a lot of time explaining what was going on to Marlene and Sirius. Dorcas kept slipping in half-truths and embellishments to spice up the afternoon for the clueless purebloods (“Muggles greet each other by kissing each other’s shoes, remember that if you wander over to say hello”) and Remus spent an equal amount of time negating most everything she said (“It is not the prerogative of the demonstrator to relieve policemen of their truncheons”). It would have been funnier to see Marlene and Sirius run amok, but at least Remus stopped her devious plans with good humour (sometimes in an impression of Professor McGonagall at her sternest). He also didn’t correct Marlene and Sirius in their shared belief that they were expected to blow kisses to the policemen guarding the demonstration. Dorcas had a feeling that Sirius had cottoned on to her intentions by then, but Remus confided that he experienced overwhelmingly large urges to mess with authority, magical and muggle, which explained the increasingly obscene-sounding kisses he blew their way. Everybody’s sweetheart Marlene with her twinkling eyes and stunning dimples was of course welcome to blow kisses at anyone without causing offence, something Dorcas both hated and admired about her.

The sun was still warm on the pavements and cast enchanting shadows between the rackety houses on the worn-down street. Dorcas and Marlene were both wearing colourful and sleeveless muggle dresses, utilizing what was likely to be the summer’s last opportunity for tanning. September was just around the corner, and Dorcas thought that they were all experiencing a certain longing for the Hogwarts Express and the Welcome Feast in the Great Hall. 

After the demonstration petered out Marlene left for a date night with Peter, and the others grabbed a curry at the nearest Bangladeshi restaurant. Dorcas decided that this would be an excellent time to ask Remus and Sirius what they knew about Severus Snape and Regulus Black. 

“Who do you think are new Death Eater recruits? Which ones from our year?”

“Mulciber always struck me as an especially nasty piece of work,” Sirius answered promptly. Remus didn’t immediately respond but had a good look around the restaurant first. Deciding that there were no likely eavesdroppers around he quietly said “Alecto Carrow.”

“Do you think so?” said Sirius, clearly surprised. “Not that I have a high opinion of the intellect of your average Death Eater, but Carrow has to be on the same level as a flobberworm.”

“Benjy Fenwick told me that she’s thought to be the main writer for _Pure Magic_ , that new magazine everyone’s talking about.”

“The one that’s been in the limelight for regurgitating skewed statistics on the benefits versus costs of muggleborns?” asked Dorcas, intrigued.

“All the authors have pseudonyms, so they can spread whatever nonsensical hatred they like. The first issue had a fucked-up article about how to kill werewolves by cooking them in smelted silver,” said Sirius. “They really think she’s behind that?” he added, aghast. 

Remus nodded bleakly, his eyes firmly on the left-over rice on his plate. The naan and the curry were finished, but Dorcas didn’t think he looked very hungry. 

“I take that back, then, Moony, I think you’re right about her. They probably have a propaganda department for especially vile people like her.”

“What do you think about Severus Snape?”

“We think he’s a snivelling tosspot, Dorcas”, said Sirius with faked brightness.

“Sirius and James never got on with him,” Remus explained carefully.

“He hexed us every chance he got, is what Remus means. Not that he usually got us, mind. He hung out with Mulciber, so that alone should tell you all you need to know about him. You’re friends with MacDonald, right? She’s not the only muggleborn he did that to, either.”

“What he did to Mary was terrible, I completely agree with your assessment there,” said Dorcas. “And Dumbledore has heard a rumour that Snape might be a Death Eater.”

“He’s very good at offensive magic, but he never struck me as very evil, or as stupid enough to be taken in with the pureblood supremacy movement,” said Remus doubtfully.

“I think he could be one,” argued Sirius. He had pure venom in his voice, which would normally have made Dorcas less than confident in his theories. “He’s got a massive inferiority complex, see, because he’s a halfblood with no money surrounded for his whole school career by Slytherin purebloods. He’ll need to suck up to them as nobody else wants to know him, and since he was in Slytherin he’s probably ambitious as hell. He’ll need the connections, ergo he has to make concessions and do whatever dirty work that’s asked of him.”

Dorcas turned her gaze to Remus. He was frowning in a way that made her think this was a topic he’d rather drop. But he also didn’t contradict anything Sirius said.

“You know rather a lot about someone you claim to detest,” she said carefully, turning back to Sirius. “I wouldn’t have known he was a halfblood.”

“Well, congrats on having normal parents, then” Sirius said sourly. Remus had gone back to gazing intently at his rice. “Mine were obsessed with blood purity and how well-connected and rich other people were, and despite my best efforts some of it got lodged in my memory.”

“You ran away from home, didn’t you?” asked Dorcas, she felt she was threading on very thin ice now.

“Yes. Why are you asking?” 

Well, that was abrupt, thought Dorcas uncomfortably. She decided to go for the truth.

“You have a brother, right?”

“Dorcas.” Remus had decided to re-join the conversation, but he was looking at Sirius rather than at her.

“I’m sorry, but I think you may want to hear this. Dumbledore told me he thinks your brother might have been recruited by the Death Eaters.”

“Why did he tell you that if he’s not sure himself?” asked Sirius, an inscrutable look on his face. Dorcas was an excellent reader of people, though, and she was almost certain that Sirius already knew that Regulus Black was a Death Eater. 

“He told me he thinks there’s a chance that he might want to jump ship, given the right circumstances, and I’m supposed to figure out what those circumstances are.” Dorcas was still not getting much of a reaction from Sirius, but Remus was looking warily at her.

“That’s unlikely”, said Sirius finally. 

“Can you tell me why you think so?” asked Dorcas.

“Because he’s a bit of a coward. Once you’re in their little murder club they’ll want to keep you put, don’t you think? And Regulus isn’t a fighter, nor is he into raping and killing. He’s a dead man walking, completely in over his head if you ask me. Unless my parents can find some way of keeping him safe, maybe they can buy him a nice desk job in the propaganda department...” Sirius was meeting her eyes mercilessly as he talked, and his were flashing with anger and something that could have been regret.

“The reason they think he’s joined is because he’s notified Professor Slughorn that he’s dropped out. This would have been his NEWT-year, right? But maybe there was another reason for him dropping out.”

“No, he’s joined them, Dumbledore is right. I saw him last night.”

“Oh?” 

“He had a mask and a cloak on, but I know him too well not to recognize him. Something in the way he carries himself, I suppose.”

There was a pause as the obvious question floated around the table. Sirius sighed and continued reluctantly:

“I was going to tell Dumbledore about it, I know we’re supposed to notify him or Moody if we can identify a new one. Gideon volunteered to write our report for last night, and I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

Dorcas thought that if it had been her flesh and blood she would not have been able to bring herself to report it. But he hadn’t yet, so maybe Sirius was the same, really, he struck her as someone who could tell a lie successfully when it really counted.

“If you think he’s ill-suited to be a Death Eater, and lacks the necessary mindset to do well with them, don’t you think that it’s likely he might want to work for us instead?”

“No, I don’t. He’s a manky little purist, make no mistake about that. I think that the only thing he cares about is the family honour, what my parents think of him, basically. They’ll be the ones who have pushed him to join in the first place, and he could never cross them.”

When bringing up his parents Sirius finally let his gaze drop to the muggle cigarette packet on the table in front of him. Dorcas took the opportunity to look at Remus. Remus had kept completely quiet for this part of the conversation, but he was clearly listening intently. He looked thoughtful, more than anything, but Dorcas could have sworn that he disagreed with Sirius. When Sirius resurfaced from his contemplations, Remus changed the subject to the banshee from the Grumpy Bowtruckle, whom the two men apparently had reacquainted themselves with the previous Friday. Dorcas took the hint and helped keep the conversation light and Death Eater-free for the rest of the evening.


	12. She spit up and came back for more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Kings of Leon's "I want you". 
> 
> This chapter has a warning for brief non-con and implied pedophilia.

He had heard nothing but good about the Dark Lord and his followers, and the Death Eaters he knew were like family. A handful even were by blood: his cousin Bellatrix, his brother-in-law Lucius and his second cousin Evan. Bellatrix and Lucius were both high up in the ranks, and during a Birthday party both let slip, in an endeavour to impress grandfather Arcturus, that they had been given special tasks by the Dark Lord. Other than family, most of the Death Eaters were rightfully picked from Slytherin House, and Regulus vaguely knew two from the year above him and one from his year. Mulciber and Snape were both new recruits like him, as was Barty Crouch. For the rest, he enjoyed the anonymity of it: they all wore beautifully crafted black and silver robes and identical silver masks over their faces. The Dark Lord rarely called anyone by name, and there were around 20 people Regulus did not know, probably would never know. The Dark Lord always knew, of course, and he knew to put Regulus together with Mulciber, Snape and Barty. His first tasks were together with the three of them, but despite it all it wasn’t long until Regulus realized that he might be in over his head.

Mulciber was into sexual torture. It came as a shock to Regulus that any of his fine, pure, fellow Death Eaters could take a sexual interest in Mudbloods and Muggles, be it in the utterly crude form of rape. Barty was extremely innocent, even more so than Regulus himself, and after watching the work of Mulciber he stopped being the happy and sweet boy Regulus had known throughout his school career. Snape, who was the most level-headed and intelligent in the group (other than Regulus himself, of course), was quickly reassigned other types of tasks. Regulus knew that Snape spent his daytime working as a potioneer, and presumably he was better needed behind the scenes than out in the streets. Regulus wondered how long it would take the Dark Lord to realize that Regulus, too, was much cleverer than the average Death Eater and should be put to better uses somewhere comfortably indoors. 

After some careful hints to Narcissa, who quickly spoke to Lucius on the matter, Regulus got reassigned. Their old group had by then been joined by a ruthless man called Avery, whom Regulus remembered had been a few years ahead in school. Regulus was told that their group had done extremely well, something Regulus privately found difficult to agree with. Barty had been reduced to a nervous wreck, and Regulus was sure he wouldn’t last much longer. There had also been some very narrow scrapes, both Mulciber and Avery were a bit slow and thoughtless, all their focus on their victims. Regulus was the one who got them into the houses, and he was the one who made sure they got out on time. The way he saw it he was invaluable, and fortunately his role meant that he did not have to witness very much of what went on inside. 

His new assignments turned out to be mainly a desk job, which suited him just fine. He got to do research on different wizarding families, which he already knew rather a lot about, and try to decide what family members of the old pureblood families to try to push for money or to join the cause, and what half-blood families, if any, could be trusted. This suited Regulus rather well, even if he still had his suspicions that the Dark Lord had not realized what an intelligent young wizard he was. Bellatrix had always seen him as a child, of course, and having a brilliant brother like Sirius go to school at the same time as he meant that all eyes had been diverted from him. But in time, thought Regulus, he would surely get to prove himself.

There was a further series of events over Christmas that made Regulus uncomfortable about the path he had chosen. Christmas was mostly about the family, and Regulus had been looking forward immensely to hinting to his relatives about the secret tasks he had been given. Before Christmas, however, there was a Death Eater gathering at the Lestrange’s house in west London. It was rare that they all met, secrecy was much more important than the community feeling as a rule, but clearly Christmas was one of those special occasions. Everyone wore their masks and drank to their hearts content. After the meeting, Regulus was hanging back just inside of the dining room they had been meeting in. He was supposed to ask Bellatrix, on behalf of his mother, what she wanted for Christmas. He had subconsciously put himself in the shadows, almost completely obscured by a china cupboard. Bellatrix and the Dark Lord were still in the dining room, talking in low voices. Regulus could just see Bellatrix, who hadn't bothered to wear a mask, and part of the Dark Lord from his vantage point behind the cupboard. 

“I am letting you take care of this because I trust you. I’ve spilled Hufflepuff blood to make it into something better, something more suited to my purposes. As you can tell from the badger underneath it, it belonged to Helga Hufflepuff.”

“It is extraordinary, my Lord. Everything you do is extraordinary, and I’ve never felt more honoured in my life. I will take it to Gringotts for you. Pray tell, what does it do?”

There was a dangerous pause during which Regulus could tell that his cousin had asked too much, and then the Dark Lord replied: “It has a connection to the founders of Hogwarts, who all had powers that equalled my own.”

Regulus didn’t think that was much of an answer, but Bellatrix moaned greedily, suggesting she was more than happy with the reply. 

“And then I will need you, my faithful servant, to continue your work with the younger Death Eaters.” Bellatrix moaned again, and this time the hairs on Regulus’s neck stood up. He sensed instantly that this was something he did not want to know about. “Your work with my young boys has been very much appreciated”, the Dark Lord whispered, and Regulus could see that he had bowed his head so that his head was right by her ear. Shivering, he slipped out of the room, and waited for Bellatrix at a safe distance. When she came back out her face was flushed in ecstasy, and her eyes looked decidedly mad.

The next time Regulus saw Bellatrix was Christmas Eve, just before the big family dinner hosted at Grimmauld Place. Regulus was already dressed up and sitting in the library, rereading his favourite book on wizarding genealogy and waiting for the guests to arrive, when she walked in and made for him. She had a hungry look on her face, which Regulus did not appreciate. He liked it even less when she squeezed her body down next to his on the sofa, with no word of greeting, and started plucking at his collar while whispering into his ear. 

“We’re all so proud of you, young Regulus, both the family and the Dark Lord. You’re enjoying your work for Him, aren’t you?” Here, her mouth got so close to Regulus’s ear that he actually felt her lips stroking him, first his ear and then gently behind his neck. 

“Yes, of course I’m proud to serve the Dark Lord” Regulus stuttered. His heart was pumping blood as if it was trying to get double the work in. She leaned into his side, breasts first, and stretched a thin white arm around his neck. 

“How old are you now, 16?”

“17.” Regulus was frozen in place, his insides were panicking, he was feeling sick and faint at the same time, and his groin was responding to having his cousin’s breasts rubbed against him. He wanted out of this situation, now.

“You seem much younger than that, you’ve got such a sweet and innocent face. The Dark Lord needs all the fresh meat he can get.” Bellatrix’s other hand was toying dangerously with the front of his dressrobes. Regulus stared down in horror as she moved her hand all the way down to his half-hard cock, outline just visible through the thick fabric. She grazed the length of it with the very tips of her fingers, moaning quietly in his ear as she did so, and then sat her hand down firmly on his upper thigh. 

“Isn’t Regulus a bit too old for you, Bellatrix?” 

“Happy Christmas, Walburga!” Bellatrix was up from the sofa in a flash and walked confidently towards Regulus’s mother, who stood in the doorway, haughty and prim. Regulus wished he could sink through the sofa cushions and disappear for the evening. Then, with an even deeper, sicker sensation in his stomach, Regulus had a startling flashback to a Christmas ten years ago, a night long forgotten by him. He could see it with biting clarity now. He had walked with his mother to Sirius’s closed door and together they had found his brother and his oldest cousin sitting on the bed. Bellatrix’s robes had been open in an indecent way, and her hand had been on Sirius’s thigh, exactly where it had been on Regulus’s just now. His mother had not said a word then, and Bellatrix had fixed her dress and strutted out of Sirius’s room with the same confidence she had done now. Sirius had received a brutal slap on his cheek from their mother, but she had been too angry to say a word to him. Regulus found himself wondering why their mother had thought that it had been Sirius’s fault, when Bellatrix was the adult. Bellatrix had always talked the most to Sirius at family gatherings up until he was sorted into Gryffindor. Like many of their relatives, she had barely acknowledged his existence after that. Regulus didn’t like the implications, he wished that the repressed memory had stayed gone, he did not want to consider what it all meant. Sirius had been quite a young child at the time, certainly irresponsible but also defenceless. Regulus was not a child, he should have been able to get out of this situation without the help of his mother. 

And what was Bellatrix thinking? She was married, and they were cousins. Were the twisted things she was doing all sanctioned by the Dark Lord? Surely not?

By the time he had collected his thoughts the library was empty of both women, and Regulus could hear guests arriving downstairs. Shrill laughter, the rustle of expensive robes, the rattle of Goblin-made jewellery and the clinking of glasses. Both Bellatrix and his mother ignored him for the rest of the night, and none of his relatives seemed as impressed with his hints of the work he was doing as he thought they would be. He even heard aunt Cassiopeia whisper to grandfather Pollux that it would have been better if he had stayed in school and gotten his NEWTs. All in all, this was the most uncomfortable Christmas Regulus had experienced since Sirius had ran away after an explosive fight during Christmas dinner 3 years ago. Regulus had a lot to think about.


	13. War is over if you want it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from John Lennon's "Happy Xmas".

Christmas Eve saw Sirius with his mouth full of almonds, left hand balancing an overflowing goblet of heated mulled wine with too much cinnamon, and his head in the chimney. This wasn’t a floo call, as any normal person would have assumed. No, Lily Evans had elected to tell him that muggles believed that the wizard who delivered Christmas presents did so through the chimney on Christmas Eve. Of course Sirius had to check, he would hardly be Sirius Black if he didn’t check his best friend’s chimney for a red-clothed, heavily bearded old man who kept reindeer as pets and had made a name for himself by stuffing gifts into children’s stockings. 

“I don’t think Santa is here yet!” he reported back to the others, inadvertently spitting out some half-chewed almonds. The damned cat chose this exact moment in time to laboriously climb up Sirius’s trouser leg. He spilt some wine onto the floor to mingle with the almonds and bumped his head on the inside of the chimney. But he didn’t shout out in surprise this time, he was not giving Freya that satisfaction. The cat kept doing this to him, and Sirius thought the excess use of claws was likely done on purpose as well. He emerged from the fireplace to lots of merry laughter and decided to deal with it in the only way he knew how: by taking the piss. He dropped down on one knee (regrettably hitting a puddle of wine with said knee, but he decided to power through manfully), facing Freya (she was now busy cleaning herself, playing innocent and pretending she had had nothing to do with the wine and the almonds littering the floor, not to mention the puncture-like claw marks Sirius knew went all the way up the back of his leg). 

“Freya, my love, from the day six moons ago when I first looked into those yellow eyes of yours, I knew I wanted to marry you. I love your pointy ears, your wet nose and that special way your tail spasms whenever you sense my presence. Freya, dearest Temptress of the North, my feisty feline Viking, will you marry me?”

James was now blushing furiously, good-humoured as always, but definitely embarrassed. The other three were pissing themselves with laughter, a job well done in other words. When James had popped the question to Lily a mere 2 hours earlier Sirius had not laughed at him, but let him and Lily have their moment, refraining from telling James how pathetic his little speech had been. Something about the love he felt for every single one of her freckles and how he’d known he’d marry her from that first disastrous meeting on the Hogwarts Express. Absolutely pathetic. Sirius felt a wave of emotion in his chest, tightening his airways and warming him like floo powder. The cat had turned its back on him and was now cleaning its bumhole. Probably a sign that the cat loved him. 

Sirius sat back down on the couch with his mulled wine. Lily summoned some firewood and lit it. Peter was trying to find muggle music on the radio; they’d all had their fill of Celestina Warbeck’s yearly Yule concert, live from the Magical Merlin Hall. James was skilfully tossing almonds into Remus’s open mouth. The snow was falling thickly outside the window and the fire was crackling comfortably in the fireplace. It was an impossibly idyllic Christmas scene, considering all four Marauders were in the same room together.

Sirius blamed it on Lily’s truly excellent Christmas dinner. It had been good enough to rival even what the Hogwarts house elves delivered every year. The result had been that they’d all eaten themselves into a stupor, bellies bloated and limbs heavy. None of them had known that Lily could cook so well, Prongs had really hit the jackpot there. Sirius wished Remus could cook, that would have been very handy considering their living arrangement. But, alas, all four Marauders were quite useless in the kitchen. Or not quite: they were all good at eating and that counted for something. 

Sirius had given up on trying to pick remnants of almonds from his teeth with his tongue and was just dozing off in his armchair when their idyllic Christmas scene was wrecked. Someone appeared in the fireplace in a flash of green flames, and it wasn’t Santa.

“I had a feeling I’d find all of you here. The Order needs you lot! How drunk are you?” Moody barked out his sentences dispassionately and stared intently at Lily, assessing that she was the adult of the group. Sirius wondered if Remus was relieved or unhappy about no longer being the go-to figure of authority in their group. Not that he’d ever been able to actually make the executive decisions; that had always been James. But they had sometimes let Moony think he was in charge, and their Professors had all turned to him when they needed to relay something to all four of them. 

“Definitely tipsy, I’m afraid. What’s happened?”

“Podmore has just reported a disturbance in Chelsea. It’s likely the Lestranges having themselves a merry little Christmas. They’ve gotten hold of some muggles by the sounds of it.”

“We’re on it,” said Sirius, trying his best not to feel personally responsible. 

James nodded in agreement and got up from the sofa, expressing his willingness for immediate action. 

“Thanks for the Christmas present, Moody”, said Lily, but she was getting up too. Moody, who had been waiting for Lily’s response, growled something about staying vigilant, and disappeared through the fireplace. 

“Where in Chelsea are we talking?” asked Remus while they hurriedly put on their winter coats and boots. 

Sirius realized that everyone had turned to him for the answer, and he cursed his family for the millionth time. “Middle of Cheyne Walk, I think. Right on the Thames.”

“Sirius, I need you to leave Bellatrix to me and James. You, Remus and Peter deal with the husband, and the brother if he’s there.” Lily was sounding angry and scared, and Sirius gave in without a fight. Choose your battles, and all that.

They ran out the door together and apparated straight into a shitstorm. Figuratively speaking, of course, it wasn’t even snowing in London like it was in the West Country and no storms as far as the eye went. Two young muggle men were suspended over the water, close to a pier. Bellatrix was right on the embankment laughing like a mad woman, and the Lestrange brothers were standing further up by the expensive row of houses, outside the gates of nr 19. 

Sirius had barely hit the ground before he started running towards the two men in dark cloaks. And he’d barely started running before he sent off his first spell; a non-verbal Bombarda that hit the asphalt in front of the enemy. The ground shook from the sheer force of it, and he heard satisfyingly surprised yells coming from the Lestranges. He reigned in his focus again and sent off a stunning spell. It missed, and both brothers sent off a hex each before disapparating, presumably just a few metres away into number 19. Sirius threw himself to the side, and the red lights zoomed past him and off into the night. Remus and Peter caught up with him and hauled him to his feet. Together they turned to look at the river. The embankment was empty. 

Sirius started running again, cursing angrily. Bellatrix must have apparated away, but where were Prongs and Lily?

He found them almost immediately. In a bout of Gryffindor bravery and chivalry, they appeared to have thrown themselves in the Thames. Both were towing a body each through the water. Sirius lifted his wand, levitating one of the bodies from the water. Soon all four had been dredged up from the Thames, and Remus was warming and drying them with heating charms in as discreet a manner as possible. The two muggles had of course already witnessed magic today, and if it had been Sirius he wouldn’t have bothered to hide it. The two muggles were holding hands and seemed to be too scared to say anything. One was bleeding from the side of his head, and Sirius whipped out his wand again and performed a healing spell. One of the muggles started crying. 

Sirius took another look at their joined hands and concluded that they were a couple. This would easily have been the reason they were targeted, Sirius was all too familiar with what Bellatrix and her ilk thought of homosexuality. Or maybe her husband had picked these two out, Sirius had always thought there was a certain desperation and self-loathing in Rodolphus’s eyes, maybe he was repressing his sexual preferences? The fact that they were muggles had probably been plenty for his deranged cousin, she’d be happy to hurt muggles for him. Sirius vowed to tease Lestrange about his obvious pretense at being straight the next time they fought.

Moody arrived soon after and told them to leave. He had Hestia Jones with him, she was a professional Obliviator and would take care of the muggles. The attack had apparently not reached the ears of the Ministry, and Moody had decided that it was just as well this flew under the radar. No need for the Ministry to know about the fight they’d just had, or about Podmore’s role in alerting them. There was a third muggle to take care of, someone in house number 17 who had called 999 after witnessing Bellatrix’s capture of the muggles. But Moody and Hestia Jones would take care of that. 

Sirius led the way back to Godric’s Hollow. He was in high spirits, they had done well, and nobody was hurt. It was also great fun to tease Prongs about his impromptu swim in the Thames. The river was filthy, and Sirius tried to entertain them all by naming all the potential diseases he could think of that Prongs might have caught from the water. When he got to “thestral chlamydia” Lily finally had enough and pushed him into the snow-covered hydrangeas next to the cottage. 

When Sirius had disentangled himself and joined the others inside he and James joined forces in cheering up Remus and Peter, who were both visibly shook up from the Death Eater encounter. Where James and himself had been in many duels and magical fights during the last six months the others hadn’t. Peter and Remus both had fulltime jobs on top of the Order. Remus had been put on special research for the Order and hadn’t had to face any Death Eaters in a fight yet, and Peter and Marlene’s joint reconnaissance work for the Order had not led to any big altercations. Lily was equally inexperienced, but she was reacting the same way Sirius and James did after a fight and was now sparkling with adrenaline and excess energy; the food coma from half an hour ago completely forgotten. 

She was pouring them all some more mulled wine, and soon everyone was enjoying Christmas Eve again. When there was a knock on the door they all ventured into the hallway together, just as a precaution There was no need for fear this time. An old and crooked woman was on the doorstep, a fine layer of snow covered the multitude of thick, woollen scarves she was ensconced in. 

“Are you young people alright? I saw you running off and disapparating like there was a dragon hot on your heels.”

“We’re fine, thanks Miss Bagshot”, said Lily. “There was a bit of an emergency, but it’s been taken care of. This is Miss Bathilda Bagshot, our esteemed neighbour,” she continued, “and these are our friends Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.”

“Whose monstrosity is that thing on the lawn?” the old woman croaked. Since the only foreign object on the lawn was Sirius’s motorbike he assumed that she must be referring to his Black Beauty, the name he had given it (Remus infuriatingly insisted on calling it the Black Terror, although Sirius was certain he secretly enjoyed riding on it).

“That would be mine,” he said, his own eyes glazing over slightly as he admired the gleaming chrome and the black leather seat. He was getting good at weather-repelling charms; the snow was falling neatly all around it but not a single flake had landed on the bike. “Would you care for a spin on it, Miss Bagshot? It flies and everything.”

He had meant it as a joke, but to the surprise of him and his friends she replied in the affirmative. Quickly collecting himself and ignoring the quiet laughter coming from his friends he offered his arm to the old woman and led her over to the motorbike. It took a few attempts to get her safely onto it, her old body was stiff and crooked in all the wrong places, but when she was finally seated behind him the arms she threaded around his waist were strong and firm.

“I’ve always wanted to ride off into the sunset with a gorgeous young man such as yourself,” she confided as the engine roared to life. 

“Santa came through for you this year, then”, said Sirius, and turned the bike up through the cold air, the hard snow whipping him in the face and Bathilda Bagshot cackling delightedly in his ear.


	14. In my life I’ve loved them all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the Beatles "In My Life".

Christmas Day dawned in a glitter of white fields, pale sheer skies and a dazzling sun that hurt James’s eyes when he tried to look at it. He was by the window, arms wrapped around Lily, their naked bodies bathing in the new sunlight that was breaking through over the treetops in the horizon. The sun caught the diamond on Lily’s hand, which was resting on his arm. They both looked down at it, taking in the newness of it, the joy it was bringing them, and the excitement it was sure to bring their parents later in the day.

James spent the next half hour quietly counting Lily’s freckles in the sunshine. All of her seemed to be covered in them, and he wasn’t lying when he said he loved every single one of them. And he said that a lot, come to think of it. He had to stop counting after getting to 653, but that was only because Lily decided they needed to get dressed. He stored away the number he’d gotten to in his head, counting to be resumed at another time, and got into some dark red dressrobes. They were a similar colour to Lily’s hair, which was why he’d bought them in the first place. She was putting on a patterned dark green dress with an open back and a puffy, knee length skirt. She’d be spending the day at her parents with her sister, and he was spending the day at his parents’ place with Sirius. And they’d get to announce their engagement to their families, which was beyond exciting.

“I want a spring wedding,” Lily told him and handed him the hairbrush. He loved brushing her hair, but she rarely let him. Apparently, it wasn’t normal to love someone else’s hair that much.

“Anything you want,” James said, and he meant it. He was indebted to her forever, she’d agreed to spend the rest of her life with him, for Godric’s sake. They shared a soft and intimate kiss, James felt himself losing track of time as Lily’s lips gently worked on his. He then brushed her hair in a swollen-lipped, open-mouthed daze, her back was turned to the window and the sun was catching her hair with every movement. It was like handling molten lava, and James didn’t know how to stop. 

Sirius had already arrived at his parents’ place when he got there, his mother was fussing over the new star tattoo on Sirius’s hand. Canis Major, with the tiny stars shaped like pawprints. James decided that it was best never to tell her about the tattoos he and Sirius had painstakingly inked on each other’s ankles at 15 if this was how she reacted to professional looking ones. He decided to go save Sirius by shoving his own hand in his mother’s face, the left one with the ring as it happened. As expected it got his mother’s full attention, soon both Euphemia and Fleamont were crying and hugging him. They had to have some proper champagne afterwards, an even nicer bottle than the intended Christmas one, and there were teary-eyed toasts to Lily and to Christmas.

Seated for Christmas luncheon his parents wanted to hear all about the Order of the Phoenix. This presented James with a bit of a problem. On the one hand he was sworn to secrecy by Dumbledore, on the other hand his parents were absolute darlings and he confided everything in them. Everything except for the pranks, the excessive drinking, the ankle tattoo and the spectacular sex he had been engaging in with Lily for a full year now. 

The fact that his parents already knew the name of the Order, and that they knew both of their boys were a part of it, suggested that they had talked to one of the senior members about it, maybe even helped the Order out with money or information. James was pretty sure that his mother was good friends with Isolde Bones, he had a vague memory of some boring dinner parties he’d been dragged to as a child, hosted by the media mogul herself and her young husband of the season. That must be it, Isolde Bones had told them about the Order, and he wouldn’t break his word if he talked to them about it. 

Together he and Sirius retold two of their more innocent stories: what had happened the night before with the gay couple in Chelsea and another one from a couple of months past when they had run into the muggle police on the motorbike. All tastefully edited, of course. Fortunately, this seemed to satisfy both Fleamont and Euphemia, and after that the subject could be changed to some tentative wedding planning (James felt massively out of his depth and decided that it would be best to let Lily plan the whole thing), how Remus and Peter were getting on with their new jobs (presumably not that great since Peter was still contacting James at least once a week with broom-related questions and Remus was increasingly troubled with making up new excuses for his monthly absences), whether or not the cottage in Godric’s Hollow could do with a nursery (Sirius initiated this particular topic and then blew James a teasing kiss) and whether or not Sirius was going steady with someone (James’s revenge).

After a very drawn out luncheon Sirius snuck out for a cigarette on the balcony upstairs, and James followed him up as quickly as possible. Fleamont and Euphemia were getting on in years, and James thought that the large amount of food meant they’d be napping in front of the fireplace for the next hour. The uncommonly cold air mingled with the disgusting smell of cigarette smoke hit James as he stepped outside, he was in just his dress robes and socks. Sirius, the pretentious twat (James thought fondly), was in a heavy-looking leather jacket and some dark blue dragonhide boots. 

“I want you to be best man”, said James, very much stating the obvious.

“Cheers, mate.” Sirius looked pleased. “I’ll make the most uncomfortable best man speech you’ve ever heard in your life.”

“Lily is picking Mary Macdonald as her maid of honour. As long as you play nice with her I don’t really care. It’s a shame it’s not Marlene, she’d be a riot, but Lily reckons Mary’s still her best friend.”

“Alright, I’ll try. She’s dropped out of the Order, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah, Lily’s been quite upset about that. Personally, I think they’ll lose touch quite soon, neither of us have had much time to keep up with people outside of the Order.”

“I’ll play nice, don’t worry. I can’t really upstage the bride and groom by throwing a hissy fit about Macdonald’s lacking moral fibre during the ceremony.”

“Good. You got a hot date for the night? I can still remember last year when you were picking up girls at the pub on Christmas Eve by telling them you were a poor orphan.”

“By telling the truth, you mean. No, I’ve been seeing a muggle girl a little bit, even took her on a couple of dates”, Sirius confided. 

“ _Even_ ”, James repeated with feigned incredulity. Then something else struck him: “Sirius, the Death Eaters already have you down as a target. If they find out you’re seeing a girl who is a muggle, she’ll be dead as a dementor as soon as they can track her down.”

“It’s a good job they won’t be able to find her, then. She’ll be going back to Italy in a couple of days. An exchange student at Queen Mary. Muggle school down the road from mine and Remus’s.”

“Alright”, James said, inwardly sighing in relief. Not as reckless and stupid as it could have been. “What’s it like to date a muggle?”

“I keep almost giving myself away, it’s a whole new game. But mostly it’s good. We’ve been to some insane muggle second-hand clothes shops and she’s taught me how to put on make-up properly and how to cut hair the muggle way. Takes ages, and you must be so very careful. You know they can’t regrow it straight away if it goes wrong? I still refuse to go on buses out of principle, and the tube isn’t as much fun now I know I’m not allowed to multiply the rats and the pigeons down there (did Remus tell you about that time I caused an evacuation in Bethnal Green?), so I’ve had to learn how to drive the motorbike on the streets. Giorgia tells me I’m even worse at driving than her countrymen are, but I think that’s really meant to be a compliment. Language barriers, you know. She screams from excitement most of the time I take her for a ride, motorbike or not.”

“Hair and make-up, you say? She’s doing you up to look like a muggle rockstar, isn’t she? Is this Padfoot in love? Are you sad she’s going back?”

“Absolutely not. You’re my one and only love, Prongs,” Sirius said, with a sultry flutter of dark eyelashes. He spoiled the effect a little by cursing as the forgotten stub of his cigarette burnt his fingers.

“And Moony and Wormtail”, James smiled fondly.

“Yes.”

“But no women, eh? They’re good enough for your bed but not for your heart?”

Sirius made a sour grimace and lit another cigarette.

“And nowadays you share your bed with men too, at least pretty ginger ones, am I right?” James continued prodding, as goodhumoredly as he could. His socks were wet from the snow and he was starting to shiver. “Where’s my invitation, do I have to dye my hair for you?” 

“You can use me for popping your man-cherry if you like, it’s nothing more to me than shaking hands or sharing a laugh.”

James met Sirius’s eyes and he felt bad for his best mate. Remus had expressed his worry about their friend to James, but personally James didn’t find anything much changed with Sirius. It didn’t surprise him that Sirius continued to be this nonchalant about sex, and reckless behaviour had always been a special hobby of his, war or no war. Then James thought (for the 100th time that day) of Lily, and how she made his life complete. The older they got the more commiserative James felt of the fulfilling love Sirius appeared incapable of.

“I’ll keep that in mind if ever I get genuinely curious. Lily knows I love you the most anyway, I bet she already thinks we’re fucking like bunnies when we’re alone together.”

“Love you too. Let’s go see if there are mince pies.”


	15. Why do you love me, you're driving me crazy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Garbage's song "Why do you love me".

“… and then, we remembered that Professor Flitwick keeps Icemice on the bottom shelf, and of course they started squealing something terrible when the box hit the floor…” 

Marlene was fairly certain that this was the end of the anecdote, but even if it wasn’t, there was no opportunity for Peter to say anything else. 

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” was shouted all around them, and Marlene leaned in for a quick, but thorough, kiss, before she made her way to the kitchen for more sparkling wine. This was one of her neater escapes; ever since Peter had discovered he could make her laugh by telling stories of the scrapes the Marauders got themselves into at school he had been telling her new and old stories on repeat. He didn’t seem to have anything else to contribute with: Marlene had tried to discuss politics, the Order, his job, and even old exes (what a desperate resort!); but it was in vain. He’d listen to what she had to say, make short replies, and then if she looked expectantly at him to say something more he’d revert to some story about James transfiguring all socks in Ravenclaw tower into gloves in fourth year. 

Poor Peter, Marlene thought (not for the first time), what a strange life it must be to be this wrapped up in your best friends and your schooldays gone by. Nowadays she preferred hanging out with Peter when the other Marauders were around. At least then he would sometimes talk about other things, really Marlene suspected that he got so nervous when it was just the two of them that he got stuck retelling old stories until she stopped him. It wasn’t his fault, poor lamb, but it was really time for Marlene to let him go. How to do it without hurting his feelings, though?

Marlene rarely kept her boyfriends for more than a few months, any longer and they were likely to fall in love with her. She had a bad feeling that for Peter it had already happened. It had probably happened long before she agreed to that date back in July, but she had been too focused on her own needs to notice what his were. Too late to worry about that now, though. 

Marlene looked around her kitchen and found it full of empty bottles. Most were muggle sparkling wine, red wine and white wine, but James and Lily had brought four bottles of Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur over as well, and there was a tell-tale purple sheen of glitter coming from the table.

Marlene’s parents were celebrating New Years at the house of somebody called Patil, and her younger brother Martinius had gone with them. Her younger sister, Mirabelle, had joined Marlene’s party, and had passed out spread-eagled in the middle of the staircase before ten o’clock. Marlene had sniffed at this, she had certainly been able to hold her liquor when she was 16, but Mirabelle was a Hufflepuff and maybe hadn’t experienced the same amount of common room parties of debauchery and wastefulness that Marlene and her fellow Gryffindors had. Marlene would have to get her sister upstairs before the rest of the family got back; her parents had always been much more protective of her younger siblings than of her. Maybe they could tell that she would always be fine, no matter what kind of magic was thrown at her.

There had been a hairy situation the day before at the apothecary, and Marlene thought that her parents should thank their lucky stars that she had been there. She had recognised the silver masks before the first Death Eater was even through the door, had had time to warn her father, who was with her at the till, and together they had stupefied both Death Eaters as they opened the door. Marlene’s first instinct had been to floo call Moody, but with her father there she had opted for Magical Law Enforcement. They had shown up, Marlene had had to explain at length why she had seen fit to stun and restrain two customers, but the MLE had finally accepted that she had acted in good faith, as the McKinnon’s apothecary had been attacked by men dressed the same way before and Mrs McKinnon had reported the threats and theft back in the summer. The two Death Eaters were taken away by the MLE, but not before Marlene had removed their silver masks to see who they were. One was a scarred older man she had never laid eyes on before; the other was Evan Rosier. He was a pureblood Slytherin of Marlene’s age from a very well-to-do family, and when she set eyes on him, she knew immediately that the MLE would be powerless. Rosier’s mother, a formidable widow with every connection that counted within the Ministry and out, would probably get him released from custody without even having to pay bribes. 

Marlene had apparated to the _Daily Prophet_ ’s offices as soon as the MLE left to do as much damage control as she could. She got hold of Dorcas, who was thankfully at her desk. She explained what had happened and prayed to Morgana that Evan Rosier’s mother’s tentacles hadn’t reached the _Prophet_ ’s offices yet. Dorcas had looked visibly shaken at the blatant, mid-afternoon Death Eater attack (and impressed with Marlene’s successful handling of the situation) and very nervous indeed when she realized that the McKinnon’s good name was at stake, that she was the one who would have to save it. 

“You’re lucky there will be an _Evening Prophet_ tonight”, Dorcas said after mulling the issue over. “I’ll have to talk to miss Bones, but I think we can get the right story out. I’ll write an article about how respected shop-keepers in Diagon Alley have been attacked by people in cloaks and masks recently, it has been mentioned in the paper before. But this time we’ll mention the apothecary and today’s date specifically. If that’s in the news tonight, there’s no way that the other side can print an article immediately afterwards accusing your parents’ pharmacy of misconduct against a pureblood, or whatever rubbish Rosier will try to frame it as. I’ll have a quick chat with miss Bones, and then I’ll write whatever she agrees I can write, and then I’ll run it straight to the printers. We’ve got less than two hours, but I can do this.”

And so, Marlene breathed a sigh of relief. There were two reporters at the _Prophet_ who were known to be in the pockets of different purebloods with Death Eater connections, but they likely had not been informed of the afternoon’s events yet. Marlene went back to the apothecary to help her father close up, and together they bought the _Evening Prophet_ on their way home. Dorcas had been as good as her word, and she had gone further than Marlene had expected. The Death Eaters were mentioned by that name (a first in the newspaper’s history), and Dorcas had concluded that all known Death Eaters were part of the blood purist movement. It was mentioned that they had been physically attacking muggles, squibs and muggleborns and that their propaganda newspaper was entitled _Pure Magic_. Most damningly of all, perhaps, Dorcas Meadowes had signed the article with her own name. 

After pouring herself a generous measure of delicious, muggle-made sparkling wine into her sapphire-encrusted goblet, Marlene headed back out into the party. It had spilt over from the dining room (filled with a now depleted selection of buffet-style food) into the library and living room. Everyone she knew was there, and they had all brought friends. She could see Dorcas talking to some Slytherin girls who were from York, same as Dorcas. Marlene thought she recognized one of them as Rita Skeeter, another new reporter at the _Prophet_. Benjy Fenwick was there as well, with some people Marlene had never met. He was looking lush tonight and Marlene felt a surge of lust and hunger, no doubt enhanced by the alcohol. She needed to break up with Peter and maybe see if Benjy was still up for it. They had made a horrible couple: he was needy, jealous and nerdy about everything from comic books to Oscar Wilde plays to magical insects, and she was flightier than a phoenix without a master, but they had made a spectacular go of it back in the day. It had certainly drawn all eyes on them, and Marlene did so enjoy the spotlight. Peter really had to go, he was too sweet, still sticking to her, but she would never be his. Not that she would be Benjy’s, either, but she yearned for the excitement of times past, the quick foxtrot, the irresistable manifestations of her youth. 

Lightheaded with her musings and the dawning of the inevitable break-up, Marlene twirled around, goblet steady in her hand, feet never failing her. When her body (but not her head) stopped spinning there was a new scene in front of her. There was a scarred warlock at the grand piano, playing jazzy tunes that had come back into fashion only recently, although the way he played them suggested he didn’t know they were in vogue. Lily and James (the golden couple, the besotted new romantics, Romeo and Juliet rewriting their ending) were snogging on a sofa, oblivious like only the blissfully in love ever were. A curvy woman with shiny black skin wearing ornamental golden robes and red roses in her hair was slapping Sirius over his cheekbones using both her hands, once, twice, three times. Gideon was wearing a horrible Christmas jumper with a large “G” on the front and doing a muggle card trick (Benjy had told Marlene about those, they were yet another obsession of his) for Arthur Weasley, a tall and skinny man who Marlene was sure she had met at different family functions. His wife Molly, Gideon’s and Fabian’s older sister, was chatting and drinking straight out of a bottle with Madam Puddifoot (who Marlene had gotten to know during her frequent visits to her tea shop back in her Hogwarts days) and two young men Marlene thought were dressed too exotically to be from Britain. Two more contenders for her bed, she decided. 

To get their attention she started spinning again, light blue frock shimmering around her, her drunken brain wandlessly conjuring up glitter and silvery sparks that twinkled around her. After deciding that most of the eyes were finally on her (not James’ and Lily’s, but you couldn’t win them all) she stopped, held her balance, and raised her miraculously still half-full goblet. 

“Here’s to 1979, everybody; let’s dance!”

There was a riveting old tune from the piano, and Peter was by her side almost immediately. She successfully escaped him after half a dance. She had a quick chat with the exotic-looking wizards Molly Weasley had been talking to, but it turned out that they were a couple, visiting from Morocco to help Madam Puddifoot redesign her tea shop. Madam Puddifoot wanted it to look more like Arabian Nights. Benjy Fenwick had a new girlfriend, an eccentric-looking older woman who looked like she could have been Xenophilius Lovegood’s twin sister. Upon further inquiry Marlene learnt that this was exactly who she was. 

And so Marlene found herself, rather disgruntled, next to Remus Lupin on a sofa in the library. 

“What a night, eh? I don’t think I know more than half the guests.”

“Everyone knows you, though, I’ll bet. How has your night been?”

“Do you think Peter will be heart-broken if I stop seeing him? Not seeing him as a friend, I mean, but stop sleeping with him and stop going to the Leaky one-on-one.”

Remus was quiet for a second or two, and Marlene could feel the mild disapproval and reproachfulness that was the strongest negative reaction Remus was capable of. 

“He’ll be pretty devastated, but he’ll be even more upset if he doesn’t find out that you’re breaking up from you, but rather from someone else.” Remus gave her a stern, sideways look.

Marlene frowned at the implication, but she knew that he had a point. Remus had often served as a beacon of wisdom in Gryffindor tower (especially after Lily’s spare time became fully booked by a certain quidditch player), and he would deliver an honest verdict if asked straight up. She had asked, and he had delivered. 

“There you are, I must have lost you somewhere in the crowd!” Peter was breathless and excited; his nose was runny from the exertion of dancing and from the wide-open windows in the library.

Marlene sighed and nodded. It was regrettable, but she was ready to ruin his evening.


	16. Ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Buzzcocks' "Ever fallen in love".

Peter was quietly working away in Quality Quidditch Supplies. He was pretending that nothing had happened and was now on day three post break-up. Marlene had been his first girlfriend and the greatest source of pride in his life after the Marauders. Third on the list was his inclusion in the Order, and fourth his day job. He knew he should count his lucky stars that it was only one of these four things that had been taken away from him, and it was true that he had gained three out of four just a few short months ago. Remus had made a point of telling him this every day after that disastrous New Year’s party. From that perspective, he had won at life since graduating; he was so much more now than just one of the boys. And there was a certain pride in being Marlene’s ex, it had been said (by James, trying to be helpful) that it was one of those challanges one had to partake in to become an adult. Well, Peter certainly felt like an adult now. He was earning his own money, he had had his heart broken, and he spent his weekends fighting Death Eaters. 

Well, fighting Death Eaters was maybe stretching it a little bit. He had only come close to two violent altercations during the last six months. At Christmas he had watched James, Lily and Sirius fight the Lestranges; both he and Remus had been too slow to react. And once before, with Marlene on a reconnaissance mission in the highlands, they had almost run into a group of Death Eaters, silver masks and all. Both he and Marlene had acted completely in sync on that occasion and hidden themselves behind some impressively large gorse bushes until danger had passed. That was the closest Peter had gotten to Death Eaters, and you could of course argue that that was nowhere near close. 

The Order was gaining information on who the Death Eaters were at a fast rate, but even when they had names and photographs it wasn’t always easy to find them. Peter had spent a lot of time outside houses of known Death Eaters, learning nothing at all. Death Eaters used the floo or apparition to go to their secret meetings, or to their blood-curdling Death Eater jobs, presumably murdering, blackmailing and scaring innocent people. The point was that even when the Order knew who to watch it was still potentially lethal to get close enough to the houses to be able to eavesdrop or spy on anyone, and it was impossible to follow the Death Eaters once they apparated or flooed away. Peter knew that at least Remus was working on taking down wards around houses (and creating strong, new safety- and concealment enchantments the Order could use themselves). Until they got to the stage of breaking down the wards of, say, the Malfoy's mansion, Peter’s missions were useless. He and Remus had discussed his rat disguise at length and tried to experiment on what would happen if he ran through Death Eater wards as a rat. The experiments had been inconclusive, Remus thought it likely that he would be able to get through all the simpler wards as a rat, but not through the more sophisticated ones. And of course, Peter couldn’t sneak out and test the real wards out on his own. James and Sirius had decided not to tell anyone about their animagus alter egos unless they absolutely had to, and Peter was very relieved that the other two had made this decision. He would never volunteer this piece of information to anyone. He was terrified of the idea of going to Azkaban for a maximum of 5 years, the penalty for an unregistered animagus. 

Peter was not a fighter. He was also not as fit as Marlene, and this had made their joint missions extra difficult. Hypothetically, they had been a good pairing mission wise. The Death Eaters had no idea who either of them were, unlike Sirius, James and the Prewett twins; all of whom had targets on their backs. But Peter was not very fast, even if he in theory was quite inconspicuous. Marlene was talented at altering her appearance, her charms and auto-transfigurations lasted hours, and she had a certain grace as well when she moved that made her ideal at sneaking around and hiding. Peter was rather clumsy in his human form, his movements slow when they weren’t nervous and jerky, and his hayfever had been awful that summer and he kept sneezing at inopportune moments. 

Alastor Moody had hinted at the last Order meeting that there would be need for regrouping the people on the field, and Peter had a horrible suspicion that Marlene may have asked him to be put with someone else. Not only had he been dumped as her lover, he had been deemed not good enough to be her co-worker, her partner in crime.

Peter sighed unhappily and tried to bring his attention back to the customer in front of him. He had a vague idea that the customer, a middle-aged wizard with a rather large belly, was demanding a refund for a malfunctioning broomstick he had bought five years ago. Peter had no idea how many years the guarantee for a Cleansweep 4 was, but he did have a bad feeling that said guarantee had a maximum weight-clause. Tact was paramount here.

“Have you kept the receipt for the Cleansweep?” Peter asked carefully.

“Of course I bloody well haven’t, it was years ago!”

“That makes it rather difficult for us, as I’m sure you can appreciate,” began Peter awkwardly, but he was interrupted before he could come up with a plausible end to that sentence.

“I bought it here, right here in this shop! And I demand a full refund, it cost me a small fortune to buy it, I distinctly remember that! And the pain and misery it’s caused me, I’ll have you know it dropped down right in the centre of Regent’s Park, almost landed in the canal! And in front of all these weird people, little Asians with big black boxes in front of their faces, setting off flashes everywhere. Like a futuristic sort of camera, Merlin knows what muggles use. I could have had an epileptic fit from all the flashing! And then there was the Statute of Secrecy as well, of course I know that I broke it, but it was the bloody broom’s fault, not mine! I’ve got half a mind to sue the Cleansweep company directly, or maybe your shop since you’re clearly selling substandard products!”

Peter knew that it was forbidden to fly anywhere public in London, no matter if it was above the clouds, meaning the statute had been broken long before the broom landed its rider in Regent’s Park. The customer was a striking shade of puce in the face and didn’t look like a man who would take kindly to facts being pointed out to him. Peter looked around helplessly, but Lakshana was busy with another customer, and the shop owner (whose name Peter still didn’t know) had not emerged from the stock room all day.

“I’m terribly sorry, but you’ll have to come back with the receipt. I can’t give you a refund until I’ve seen the terms in the guarantee.”

This was followed by some inarticulate shouting and swearing, and Peter hid behind the counter. When the customer had shouted for a good minute he finally stormed out. But instead of being allowed to sigh in relief, Peter was dragged out from behind the till by the owner of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The owner was not quite puce in the face, but he was just as angry as the customer had been.

“Mr Smith is one of our best customers, you absolute flobberworm! His whole family is obsessed with Quidditch, they all shop here! You should have offered him a full refund, what if the whole Smith family take their business to Stitch the Snitch instead!”

Peter listened with half an ear, half cowering behind the till. He was just about to try and defend himself (how he didn’t know, but surely the Owner must have noticed how fat Mr Smith was?) when James and Sirius burst through the door, laughing uproariously and drawing all attention to themselves.

“Wormtail, mate, did you see the fatty with the broomstick who stormed out of here a minute ago? He was all over the _Prophet_ this morning, silly bugger thought he could fly straight through London, and apparently, he’s such a bad flyer that he crashed stomach first in front of a busload of Japanese tourists in Regent’s Park! The pictures are hilarious, we’ll show you tonight!”

Blissfully unaware of the Owner’s bristling anger that was being directed straight at him, James slung an arm over Peter’s shoulders and continued:

“You’ve done enough moping around, and we’re going out tonight. Come to Mile End straight after work, Lily’s bringing a steak and ale pie and then Sirius and Remus are treating us all to a night at the Grumpy Bowtruckle!”

“Yeah, I’ll even introduce you to the resident Banshee if you behave yourself, Wormtail.”

Peter grinned happily at his friends, the encounter with Mr Smith and his telling off by the Owner all but forgotten. He couldn’t remember quite what a Banshee was, but if Sirius thought he should meet one he was certainly up for it. And Lily’s pies were steadily becoming his second favourite food, next to the Victoria sponges the house elves of Hogwarts made. 

“Count me in, I’ll see you at seven!”

James and Sirius grinned enormously at him, gave a friendly clap each on the Owner’s shoulders (the Owner visibly hated them all now), and left arm in arm, making just as much noise leaving as they had entering the shop.


	17. She said God bless this acid house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Kasabian's "Bless this Acid House".

The Grumpy Bowtruckle was something else, really. The fog, condensation and cigarette smoke would occasionally clear enough that you could see who was in the bar with you. Here there be hags, goblins, ghosts, a vampire on a leash and old warlocks who’d transfigured, blown up or made invisible part of their bodies. There was a fantastically creepy-looking mermaid with half her body submerged in a tank in the corner, the other half was on full display to the room; bare breasts and slimy green hair. In short, every individual was a new experience. James had told her quietly he found it all a bit sickening, and it didn’t take a legilimens to tell that Peter was with him. But Lily had to side with Remus and Sirius on this one. She was fascinated.

Remus had found an almost empty table close to the mermaid and was beckoning them over. The table had two occupants; both (in Lily’s assessment) Slytherins who looked like they could have been in their last year when Lily started Hogwarts. One had dyed her hair a dark purple, and was wearing mostly red. She introduced herself as Beula Skeeter but said nothing else, and with that made it clear that she wanted to be left alone. She had a newspaper with her and was halfway through a crossword puzzle. The other woman had long, unnatural-looking platinum blonde hair and a predatory smile. “Rita Skeeter”, she said when Lily had her hand in hers. Skeeters nails were the longest Lily had ever encountered, blood red and scraping the inside of her wrist in an ominous way. 

Lily recognized the name as someone who worked freelance for the _Prophet_ , and someone whom Dorcas had an intense dislike for. Lily didn’t think Remus knew who she was, he would never have picked this table if he had. Too late now though. Rita Skeeter was watching Sirius intently as the smoke cleared temporarily around the bar. Lily supposed he was very distinct looking, and many a gossip magazine had run stories on his rather public escape from his parents and subsequent disownment. He was waiting for their drinks by the bar and saying hello to what appeared to be an old friend of his in the meantime. The banshee had long, tangled and dead-looking black hair, and was dressed in a tight-fitting green dress and grey cloak. The banshee was listening to something Sirius was telling her, but her long, skeletal fingers were busy stroking Sirius’s chest and arms. Lily didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but she certainly couldn’t tear her eyes from the interaction. 

When James introduced himself to Rita Skeeter, Lily noticed a certain excitement from the journalist, and she started asking him questions about a fight that had occurred in Port Arthur just before New Year’s. James’s name along with Sirius’s had appeared in the paper then, much to the Order’s chagrin. They had managed to fly under the radar up until that point, but Lily had a horrible feeling that this was all about to change.

“There’ve been rumours that you and the disowned Black brother have started a little vigilante gang of teenagers, mucking fights with people you think represent the wizarding establishment? I’ve been told you’ve been influenced by a dangerous muggle movement called the punk scene, what are your comments on that?”

Lily met Remus’s and Peter’s eyes; they were both looking horrified. James, who appeared not to have grasped the potential gravity of the situation, just laughed and replied in the affirmative; clearly intending his reply to be taken as a joke. 

“And what are the names of your lovely friends, James? I’m assuming they’re all part of your little gang?”

“I want to meet the banshee,” said Lily and Peter loudly and in unison, while Remus frantically waved at James to get his attention and to make him stop talking. 

Lily dragged her boyfriend up from his chair and away from the table, while she whispered an explanation to him. Sirius noticed their approach and started waving his arms eagerly, almost smacking a vampire in the face. The vampire, whom Lily had noticed previously, had, it would seem, snuck up behind Sirius to take a better look, and the frail-looking lady who had him on a leash was visibly struggling, trying to drag him away. The banshee, who had no doubt been watching the vampire sneak up on Sirius, was looking annoyed. She had also removed her hands from Sirius as soon as he started jumping and flailing about to greet Lily and the others.

“This is Aeval, everybody. Aeval, these are my friends, they’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Charmed, I’m sure”, murmured Aeval. Her voice was faint and cracking in places, and Lily thought she could distinguish a faint Irish accent. She was also hiding behind her mane of black hair and pulling her cloak around her to hide her skeletal body from scrutiny. 

“Bit shy, is Aeval, but never mind, we’ll have some drinks and get to know each other”, said Sirius.

“I’ve actually promised to have a drink with Vladimir and Edith over there,” Aeval said, barely higher than a whisper, and poked a startlingly white finger out of her cloak to point at the old woman and the vampire, who were now securely seated at a table barely visible through the smoke. Sirius turned back to the banshee to respond, but Aeval had disappeared from his side. Lily, unwillingly impressed with the trick, looked back at the table with the vampire, and could just about make out a new dark figure that had shown up from nowhere.

“And that was Aeval. At least you got to meet her. Wish you’d seen her when she’s pissed, she’s a right laugh, don’t you agree Moony?”

“We believe you, Sirius,” said Peter, who looked more frightened than uncomfortable now. Remus was shaking his head in an exasperated manner. At that moment the bartender, a dark woman wearing a moth-eaten fur coat of an indistinct colour, set fire to the five green drinks at Sirius’s side. Grinning mischievously, Sirius handed the drinks out and downed his in one go. Not wishing to be outdone, James followed suit, managing not to squeal or choke (although Lily could tell it was a close call). Lily tried a few times to quench the flames on hers, but when it failed, she sipped it carefully. As it happened, the flames were magical, and she was able to drink without getting burnt. It was too strong and far from pleasant, however, and she turned decisively to the bartender to order five beers. 

A young woman whose skin was dark blue (whether by design or mistake Lily never found out) asked her to dance a second later, and Lily accepted, leaving the boys to deal with the drinks. Dancing to “Hong Kong Garden” under a flashing red-tinged disco globe, the woman refused to give Lily her name, which didn’t bother Lily too much as she was a skilled dancer. She did, however, tell Lily that she was there on a rescue mission, she explained that she thought it was animal cruelty to keep a mermaid in a bar. Lily agreed to go over and talk to the mermaid, and they walked over to the tank when the song had finished.

“I’m here to take you to safety,” Lily’s blue-skinned dance partner stated in a rather loud whisper to the mermaid. A man who was skulking on the other side of the mermaid’s tank in a black hooded cloak gave them a long stare and then disappeared towards the bar. The mermaid gave Lily and her new friend a look of pure disgust, then bared her fanglike teeth and gave them an ugly grimace. Ugly was really saying something here, as the mermaid possessed sludge-coloured, unfocused eyes, very large nostrils and pure-white eyelashes, which cut too much of a contrast with her dark green eyebrows and moist, mossy-looking hair. 

“I come here every month to try and save her from this unfortunate establishment, but she’s yet to speak to me”, Lily’s dance partner explained with a great sigh of exasperation. “I run a rehabilitation centre for magical marine life. Oooh, they’re playing the Sex Pistols now!” she exclaimed and turned away from Lily, eyes set on the make-shift dancefloor behind her. She almost stumbled over a man the size of Flitwick, wearing a very tall, purple top hat, who in turn had caught sight of the mermaid, and was making a high-pitched noise just audible over the music. 

At the same moment, James and Sirius joined Lily, disco ball flashing and shimmering behind them while they handed her a pint and grinned broadly at the mermaid.

“I dare you to make a pass at the mermaid”, James half-shouted in Sirius’s ear. Lily turned away in despair, not wishing to see where this was going. There was a splash of epic proportions that drowned out the last lines of “Pretty Vacant”. 

“Are you by any chance from the Black Lake?” Sirius slurred politely once the worst of the yelling around him from people being splattered had subsided. He was now submerged to his waist in water.

The mermaid looked genuinely surprised at the question and nodded back. She also seemed quite stunned at suddenly sharing her little aquarium with someone else; Lily noticed with mild irritation that she wasn’t bearing her pointy teeth at him, but rather pushing her chest out to draw his attention to it. Sirius shot the mermaid one of his most charming smiles, and Lily could hear Remus huffing in annoyance to her left. 

“At least he won’t be able to bring her back to your place”, Lily whispered in Remus’s ear, gesturing discreetly to the tank. 

“He’s not above doing it in the bath”, Remus whispered back, but Lily thought he was probably joking. She was about to point out the logistical nightmare that was human genitalia and fish tails, when her fiancé intervened. 

“Surely merpeople have their own name for the Black Lake,” James said, interrupting his best friend and the mermaid from eye-fucking each other. “One of Sirius’s great aunts got to name the lake at Hogwarts for wizardkind, right Sirius?”

“No, my great-great-great-grandfather, I think. Named it after himself, of course, Black’s are nothing if not obsessed with names. Which brings me to my next point; what’s yours?”

At this venture, Peter came stumbling towards them, arms flailing wildly around him and mouth open in a silent scream. Hot on his heels was an elderly wizard with no hands and a wooden peg in place of one of his legs. This didn’t stop him from waving his limbs around suggestively whilst asking Peter, in a very carrying voice, if he was sure he wouldn’t like to reconsider the massage. He was wearing a very evil grin while asking, and pursued Peter even after the latter had hidden himself behind Lily and Remus. This put an abrupt end to the others’ evening, as they all recognized real danger when they saw it. 

Safely in the local chippy half an hour later (minus the mermaid and the menacing masseuse) Lily was left wondering how much of the evening had actually happened, and how much was on account of the psycho-euagarics they had all consumed before leaving Remus’s and Sirius’s flat. At least 1979 was off to an interesting start.


	18. You won't fool the children of the revolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the T. Rex song "Children of the Revolution".

Dorcas couldn’t fathom why Isolde Bones hadn’t stopped the article. The only explanation was that she hadn’t been consulted before publication. With Isolde Bones being the chief editor, it meant that the second editor must have ok’d it behind Miss Bones’ back, which was a very worrying prospect indeed. 

Dorcas sighed heavily and leant back in her office chair. The article contained a picture, clearly taken at an unsavoury bar somewhere in the city. Both James Potter and Sirius Black were somewhat visible in the picture: to someone who knew them there was enough of their faces on show to recognize them. They were standing either side of what appeared to be a naked, green woman in a water tank, and they were taking turns kissing her on the cheek. As Dorcas watched the photo, the man who was probably Sirius gave his pint glass to James, winked at someone out of shot in the photo, and jumped into the cistern with a great splash that made several other people in the outskirts of the photo jump out of the way and cover their heads. James was laughing uproariously, making him much more identifiable to Dorcas; he held on to both his and Sirius’s pints and threw his head back as water splattered off him. Nobody else was easily discernible in the photograph, which had clearly been taken by an amateur; it looked as if a ghost was perhaps standing right on the camera creating a blurred and unreal effect. There was a skeletal woman hiding herself in her great, black hair, and a redheaded woman with her back to the camera. A tiny man in a tall, purple top hat was crawling under a table. Something that looked like a Jarvey was standing on its hind legs at the very corner of the photograph, painstakingly giving a two-fingered salute with its paws to the camera. 

The caption that went with the photo read “James Potter, leader of underground vigilante group intent on bringing down the Ministry of Magic; and his closest associate, disgraced former heir Sirius Black, rounding up followers to their cause last night in East London.” The article, written by Dorcas’s least favourite colleague at the _Daily Prophet_ Rita Skeeter, kept to very much the same theme, dabbling freely in muggle counterculture movements and referencing the recent increase in street fighting in the wizarding world. It appeared she at least didn’t have any other names she could use for the article, but that was only a small consolation as the photograph appeared to be real. This was bad news for the Order, an unneeded dent in their credibility. 

Rita Skeeter was becoming a real menace. She had risen astronomically in the journalistic ranks at the paper, much faster than Dorcas had. Skeeter had written many articles about the incompetence of the current Minister for Magic, the auror department and the MLE. Harold Minchum, Minister for Magic, was incompetent from the Order’s perspective, but not because he was inactive. He had made a point of employing even more dementors and giving both the MLE and the aurors more power than before. The main issue was that he was not officially admitting that Voldemort was the man threatening society, and he had been carefully avoiding pointing his finger at the pureblood movement, which was playing such a significant part in Voldemort’s rise to power. Instead, Minchum was advocating more force to curb all manners of political movements, and very little interest was given to the issues everyone was fighting over. Skeeter was pointing out some flaws of the current administration, but she was refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy in fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters, seemingly completely focused on making fun of all parties involved, getting her facts mixed up and exaggerating all information she got her long-nailed hands on. Skeeter had also taken to calling Voldemort “You-know-who”, and somehow the joke had caught on. 

Dorcas’s own position at the paper was precarious. Miss Bones was really the only thing keeping her safe at the paper. After her article about Death Eaters the day with the event at McKinnon’s pharmacy, Dorcas had received so many howlers and curses by owl that there had been three fires in the office, all originating from Dorcas’s workstation. It had been humiliating and frightening in equal measure but considering the severity of some of the letter-bound curses, she had gotten off lightly. Needless to say, her colleagues were not very happy with her for putting all of their safety at risk, as they saw it. Miss Bones had told her that even though the article had been admirable, she had to put everyone’s safety first, and it would be better if Dorcas formulated her critique differently from now on. This had upset Dorcas even more, as Miss Bones, too, was in the Order. She should know that Dorcas wasn’t antagonizing anyone for fun, she had done something important for the Order with that article. When Dorcas had asked Lily about her thoughts on it, she had said that Isolde Bones was bound to take care of her employees first and foremost, and the Order came second. Dorcas thought this a poor excuse.

Evan Rosier, and the other would-be perpetrator at the pharmacy, had of course gotten off without as much as a warning. The MLE had told the McKinnon’s that it had all been a misunderstanding, nobody had really tried to threaten them. Rosier’s mother had been interviewed in the _Prophet_ after his swift release, and she had complained endlessly about the persecution of the old wizarding families, whose traditions could sometimes not be understood by muggleborns and halfbloods. She had evidently not been allowed to name the exact incident her son had been involved in, but she did make it sound as if some establishments in Diagon Alley were behaving unreasonably towards purebloods, and she stated that purebloods certainly weren’t the prejudiced ones in modern wizarding society. The article was written by Sedatus Whimple, most of whose salary was rumoured to be paid by the purebloods he wrote flattering articles about.

Dorcas’s other job was a lot more satisfactory. She enjoyed her monthly meetings with Dumbledore where she would update him on any news she had on Severus Snape and Regulus Black. It usually wasn’t much, but Dumbledore always seemed grateful to her, which in turn meant a lot to her. She was yet to meet properly with Emmeline Vance and Isolde Bones (in Death Eater research capacity), but then she had not discovered anything about secret missions concerning Lestrange or Malfoy. 

Severus Snape was a difficult man to find information on. Dorcas had remembered Lily’s friendship and subsequent falling out with the man in school, but that had led her nowhere. Lily had made it clear she wanted to continue ignoring Severus Snape’s existence, and Dorcas got the impression that she was still hurt from the things that had passed between them. Dorcas couldn’t remember seeing Lily hang out with him after their OWL year anyway, so Lily was unlikely to know anything about his life as a Death Eater, if indeed he was one. Lily did admit to Dorcas that Dumbledore had asked her to get in touch with Snape, but that she had refused him. Dorcas had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore was counting on her to work on Lily, rather than on Snape himself. She was developing a dim idea that Dumbledore thought that the key to get him to switch sides was through Lily.

Dorcas had found the pharmacy she had been told Severus Snape worked in without problems, and she had been going there on a fortnightly basis. She had offered Lily to buy some of the more obscure potion ingredients for her and Lily had reluctantly agreed to let her buy Mooncalf dung from Knockturn Alley, a product that Marlene’s family had had occasional problems procuring. Snape was rarely behind the counter, but he could be seen in the backroom of the pharmacy, working away on complicated potions. Dorcas at least knew where he was during the day.

She had found it a lot more interesting to tail Regulus Black. He looked very similar to Sirius, but whereas Sirius was rarely out of muggle clothes and enjoyed looking every bit the half-dangerous rebel, his brother was always dressed in finely tailored wizarding robes and kept his hair short and face clean shaven. He lived in Islington with his parents and led a life of leisure tinted with mysterious disappearances where Dorcas would lose him for days, presumably this was the time he spent with the Death Eaters. He spent his leisure time partly in the upmarket restaurant in Diagon Alley called the Elder Wand, partly in the more sinister and very expensive bar in Knockturn Alley; the Crystal Ball, and another part of his time at the Central Wizarding Library in Holborn. Dorcas was finding it difficult to follow Regulus Black in the bar and the restaurant; even though her large circle of friends meant she could find someone to sit with in both establishments, it was usually impossible to eavesdrop on her quarry. It was also difficult to afford drinks in these places with her journalist salary. She was able to see who Regulus met up with, however, and that had been immensely helpful to the Order. Many new potential Death Eater names had been added to the files thanks to Dorcas’s ability to visit these places without arousing suspicion.

The most interesting to her was following Regulus to the library. He sat for hours in the same secluded section, and always after having transfigured his face and hair. He wasn’t very good at changing his appearance, and Dorcas found him without fail each time. He was always alone, and he always seemed to be looking at books containing very dark and ritualistic magic. Unfortunately, she hadn't yet been able to get close enough to him to see what exactly he was researching. Once or twice she even thought he had spotted her, but then her work was making her paranoid. At first, she had thought that he just took a general interest in dark magic, but the more she saw of it, the more certain she became in her conviction that there was something specific he was studying. He must also be very worried that someone who knew him would find him out, since he always changed his appearance before stepping into the library.

Dorcas kept the information she had gathered in some normal-looking scrolls of parchment. They were cunningly bewitched to look as if they were unfinished articles about the new law on bewitched muggle artefacts, and a first-hand account about a witch who claimed she had spent a whole year living with a Yeti in a mountainous den in Mongolia. A plan was slowly forming in the back of Dorcas’s head, making her less scared of getting seen by Regulus. She would try to make contact with him soon, see if she could find out what he was up to in the library, hiding from friend and foe alike. Question was, should she just walk up to him at the bar and see if she could befriend him, or should she do it by stealth and hope that she had interpreted his actions correctly?

She was about to leave the office when identical memos were dropped on all desks by an invisible hand. Isolde Bones was pregnant and had decided to dedicate her time mainly to her family. She had resigned as editor in chief of the _Daily Prophet_.


	19. It’s a mess alright, yes, it’s Mile End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song "Mile End" by Pulp.

It was another one of the best full moons Remus had ever had. In a manner of speaking, of course, technically Remus was never present himself on a full moon. The psycho-euagarics Lily had helped him collect and dry the past summer and autumn were still working, and mild, benign hallucinations the day before a full moon were infinitely preferable to the joint aches and flu-like symptoms he would normally experience. The other Marauders had been as good as their word, and they had found him a nice, secluded and uninhabited forest surrounded by mountains in Scotland where they took him every full moon. They stayed with him all night, running wild and free, waiting for him to transform back into Remus. Then James would go back home to Lily, Peter would call off sick from work, and Sirius would side-along Remus back to their flat and they would sleep on the couch in front of the telly, ordering take-away when they got hungry. They would talk about their school years, about the people they loved, about what spells they’d like to invent and about what they would do when the war was over.

For it was a war now. Even the public were becoming aware of it, the papers reported daily on the two underground movements that were raising havoc in the wizarding world and muggle world alike, the movements that were ruining the peace in society. The _Daily Prophet_ was still not calling the Death Eaters by name, and the paper was reporting as if the two groups were only harming each other, when the truth was that one of the groups was trying to hinder the other one from hurting the rest of society. It felt infuriating to read stories about how the Order was equally responsible for the violence, that they were just as much an aggressor as the Death Eaters were. Even more upsetting was that Voldemort was never mentioned by name anymore. Some idiot at the _Prophet_ had started calling him You-know-who, and nowadays he was known by that name only. You-know-who was portrayed as a slightly sinister mastermind, someone with a grand vision and an exclusive club of followers who were taking over in society. What their purpose was remained unclear if you believed the _Daily Prophet_ , but some of their methods were rumoured to be unethical.

The _Prophet_ had gone downhill fast after Miss Bones’ resignation, which had been followed almost immediately by Dorcas getting fired. The hateful Rita Skeeter was nowadays the most controversial journalist on the paper, she at least refused to kiss up to the purists. That was her only redeeming quality, however, after the devastating article about James and Sirius she had kept on ferreting out new things about the Order. She had (mostly correctly) started referring to them as the Order, and she had figured out that Dumbledore was involved with it. But other than the occasional nugget of truth, everything she wrote was complete rubbish and she was an inexhaustible source of wild conspiracy theories. The latest one, glaring at Remus from the paper on their sofa table, was that a band of goblins gone rogue from Gringotts were using Dumbledore as a marionette, and he, in turn, was training all seventh years at Hogwarts to fight for a mysterious cause, the real purpose of which was known only to the goblins in charge.

“What would you like to eat, Moony?” asked Sirius. They were lying together on the red leather sofa in the flat, watching David Attenborough hanging out with gorillas on the muggle TV. Sirius had conjured up some soft, navy blue blankets they were both ensconced in, and brought a huge pot of tea into the sitting room. Remus had been worried for a long time that Sirius was spiralling out of control, drawn to danger like a bowtruckle to doxy eggs, but on days like these Remus was reminded of the genuine devotion and care that cohabited the rash thrill-seeker in his flatmate. 

“Chinese?” Remus mumbled, burrowing deeper into the blankets, praying he wouldn’t have to get up. They had eaten too much Indian food lately; not that Remus had known that there could be such a thing as “too much” Indian food. But then he had never lived in Mile End before. 

Sirius got up from beside him, yawning enormously, and threw a big coat with black fur trimmings on himself. He was only wearing pyjama bottoms, but Remus doubted that the people of Mile End would notice. The Chinese was just around the corner, anyway. 

Sirius came back half an hour later with enough food to feed a whole family. Remus thought he sometimes forgot that James and Peter (and maybe even Lily, nowadays) didn’t share their home. As usual, Sirius ignored him when he tentatively asked how much the food had cost. Sirius had developed a tactic of convenient deafness whenever money was mentioned. He let Remus pay a small amount for rent but had quickly developed a system of hiding all bills from Remus, and he would buy food for them both when Remus was at work. He must also have learnt how to distinguish muggle money on his own, as he had always asked Remus to help him with that previously. Of course, Sirius was rich in a way that Remus would never be and could cover their costs for the unforeseeable future without having to worry, but that didn’t mean that Remus stopped worrying. There was a constant feeling of inadequacy preying on his heart and on his mind but voicing it out loud would make Remus sound ungrateful. And so, he kept quiet about his feelings, and only brought up the subject of money at carefully spaced intervals. He was forced to drop the subject every time as Sirius, without fail, ignored him until he did.

“Remember fourth year when we transfigured all the cutlery in the great hall into chop sticks?” asked Sirius absentmindedly as he piled food onto two plates. 

“That’s one of the times it backfired on ourselves, I think. None of us knew how to eat with them, and I seem to remember Peter picking up a chop stick thinking it was his wand.”

“Yeah, reckon it was a bit too ambitious. I miss pulling pranks, though.”

“What do you mean by that, you and James still prank people at an alarming rate for two supposedly grown-up wizards?” Remus said, but even as he said it, he realized he couldn’t remember the last prank the two had pulled.

“Well, we get the occasional one in, but it’s no fun to prank the rest of the Order; there’s always some serious-minded spoilsport around. And anyways, there used to be four of us.” Sirius sent Remus a meaningful look and handed him one of the plates with some chop sticks and a napkin.

“I’m still here, you know”, Remus said, carefully considering if he should point out that, recently, he had been there a lot more than James had. He decided against this, it was probably a sore point. “I agree that the Order isn’t really the right venue and audience for your pranks, though. It’s all getting a bit too dangerous out there, an unexpected explosion can lead to quite a strong reaction, even if it is just a dungbomb stuck to a Filibuster’s indoor firework. Moody is getting really paranoid, he’d curse anyone who surprised him on the spot.”

Sirius was quiet for a bit, and they ate in what Remus thought was companionable silence. Then:

“James is forgetting about me.” Sirius was on the verge of sounding truly vulnerable here.

“He’s just busy getting married, once they’re hitched he’ll have more time again,” Remus said. “Lily can’t stand him for any prolonged stretch of time, anyway, she’d come crying to you to take him off her hands if there wasn’t so much work.”

“I suppose I just miss the simplicity of what we used to have back in Hogwarts”, Sirius admitted, and Remus nodded at this. He couldn’t agree more. He was already worried about what the manager at Flourish and Blotts would say when he showed up at work tomorrow. He thought they were starting to put two and two together concerning his monthly sick-leaves. 

“You’ll have to find a new hobby to distract you for the next few months until Prongs is available again. Maybe you could take up breeding crups, or sending anonymous hate mail to the _Prophet_?” 

“I'd like to send a few well-worded opinions to _Pure Magic_ , although I doubt they’d publish it. Do you know that the last issue had an in-depth article about Dorcas Meadowes? With a picture of her, and lots of information about her. I think they’re trying to get the Death Eaters to attack her next.”

“I did know, actually, I ran into Benjy two day ago in Diagon Alley. He told me the same thing, and he says he’s told her to stay vigilant. I reckon Dumbledore should provide her with some protection.”

“She’d bloody hate that,” responded Sirius, sounding sure of himself. 

“We’re not untouchable, Sirius. The more fights I see, the more surprised I am that not more of us have gotten hurt or worse. You’ve been in duels with Death Eaters every week since Christmas, haven’t you?”

At that moment their fireplace roared to life, and Albus Dumbledore stepped into their sitting room. Remus became immediately aware of how messy the room was, how many empty Firewhisky bottles there were, and how inappropriately dressed they both were for meeting the great leader of the Order of the Phoenix.

“I beg your pardon for disturbing your afternoon on a day like this, gentlemen.” Here Dumbledore stopped a bit abruptly as his eyes took in Attenborough and the gorillas, still having the best of times within the confines of the TV screen. 

“Not at all, it’s a pleasure to see you, professor”, said Remus humbly, trying to hide his nervousness. 

“Chinese, professor Dumbledore?” asked Sirius, waving his chopsticks with a grin on his face. It would, indeed, be amusing to see Dumbledore manoeuvre sticks with greasy food around his beard.

“Ah, that’s very kind of you, Sirius, but I’m afraid I have to decline. I’m here because there was a fight between Death Eaters and Order members earlier today, and there were three casualties.”

“Who?” Remus found himself almost shouting.

“All three were innocent bystanders, shoppers in Knockturn Alley. They have been identified now, and their names are Salome and Alfred Goldstein, and Orion Black."


	20. A hero of war, yeah that’s what I’ll be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from "Hero of War" by Rise Against.
> 
> Warning for angsty themes and character death.

He was a dangerous man. He had killed a select few people, and he had gotten the cruciatus curse to work (only once, and under the direct supervision of the Dark Lord, but still). The imperius curse came naturally to him, but that was not something he was proud of. He hoped he wouldn’t be called on to use any of those curses again. Having been promoted to someone above mindless mudblood stalking and fighting Order members out in the streets had been the ideal solution, but sometimes he was still asked to do things he was uncomfortable with. It was not the life he had pictured for himself, but he thought his parents were proud; and that was as much as a good son could hope for. As long as they were proud of him, he thought he could face anything.

Regulus entered the Crystal Ball in high spirits, ready for a drink before dinner at Grimmauld Place. He was dressed in fine robes, his shiny black hair was tamed to his own standards, but he was too pale nowadays. He used to spend all his time playing quidditch, and now look at him. Either out drinking, pretending he was doing fine for his family and friends, or in the library with his nose in a book. He had not seen anything of the Death Eaters this past week, had not been summoned by the Dark Lord, and it was as if providence had given him a whole week to himself and his confused thoughts. The devastating information he had discovered in his research was at the back of his mind, it was not the kind of information you could digest just like that, never mind forgetting about it once you’d discovered it. Regulus was still on the fence about whether or not to ignore it, something was telling him that it would be a hard thing to ignore. A week to himself had been a mercy, be it a small one.

The Crystal Ball had quickly become a favourite haunt of his. It was an orb-shaped room at the top of the highest building in Knockturn Alley, and everything on the inside was coloured white or silver. The round walls changed seamlessly into ceiling and was made from slightly opaque glass. It was visited exclusively by young people, most a bit older than Regulus, but still young. You had to have a bit of money to frequent it too, sorting out the worst riffraff from the establishment, and it was open both in the daytime and in the evenings. It all made a welcome change from the stuffy drawing rooms and crowded salons he met with his extended family in. 

And there she was. Regulus had barely sat down at his usual table (after greeting Gregorius Greengrass and Celeste Yaxley, who were already seated and very engrossed in each other) when he locked eyes with the witch who had been following him around. At first, he had thought that she just frequented the same bars as him and was trying to catch his eye (fat chance); but then he had seen her at the library too. He had never returned her gaze before, though, but having felt more relaxed today than he had for months, he had forgotten himself. Their eyes stayed locked for much too long before she finally looked away, leaning over the bar to order. She was a friendly-looking young woman with light brown hair, a petite upper body and a voluptuous behind, dressed in short, figure-hugging dressrobes. The way she leaned over made Regulus look more than he normally would have, once again realizing that he was off guard and not feeling or acting quite like himself. He excused himself (Greengrass and Yaxley barely acknowledged his retreat) and went over to the bar.

“Put the lady’s drink on my tab,” he said quietly to the bartender. “And one gillywater, please.” The bartender, who had been mixing something that smelt like elderflower for the mystery woman, gave Regulus a discreet bow and went about his business.

Regulus turned towards the woman and waited. She had opened her mouth slightly, brows furrowed, and eyes cast down as she considered whether to accept a strange man paying for her drink or not. 

“I’m Dorcas Meadowes,” she said, finally lifting her eyes to meet Regulus’s, and extended her hand to him. The name rang a bell, but Regulus could not remember why. He recognized her from Hogwarts, of course, but there was something he was missing. He kissed her hand, an old-fashioned move to be sure, but Regulus had found it usually gave the right impression. Her eyes were too intense for his liking, and she looked amused by his choice of greeting.

“Regulus Black,” he said in return.

“Yes, I know,” Dorcas Meadowes said, confirming Regulus’s suspicions.

“You were in Hufflepuff, am I right?”

“I was.”

“But you’re rather bookish for a Hufflepuff,” suggested Regulus gently. When she simply looked confused, he continued: “You spend rather a lot of time in the Central Wizarding Library. Although, come to think of it, I’ve never seen you read or even check out books in there.”

She drew in a sharp breath at this but made no immediate attempt to explain herself. Their drinks arrived, and they both drank deeply from their glasses.

“I don’t usually drink this early in the day,” confided Dorcas.

“It runs in my family,” said Regulus, surprising himself a little with the admission.

“I know,” Dorcas said again, and this confirmed yet another of Regulus’s suspicions. 

“Friend of Sirius’s?” he asked, now very quietly. 

“We’ve met,” Dorcas admitted, equally quietly. Her brow still looked like a knitting pattern, but she seemed to have come to a decision of some sort.

“I think you and I have a mutual interest when it comes to what you’ve been reading up on in the library,” Dorcas said, still speaking very quietly but now with careful deliberation. “What’s more, I think I can help you, if you’re contemplating what I think you are.” Dorcas’s eyes were searching his for something. Regulus forced himself to continue breathing, scared out of his wits and unwilling to show it. Was she working for the Dark Lord? Had the Dark Lord found out how far into his secrets Regulus had delved? But surely, nobody who knew Sirius would be working for the Dark Lord? What did she want from him?

Dorcas dug through her purse and came up with two small scrolls of parchment and a quill. Looking at him very deliberately, she put the quill down to one of the parchments. 

“I’ll write my name here, so you don’t forget it,” she said, which made no sense to Regulus. After writing it Regulus could have sworn that both scrolls glowed red for the briefest of seconds, but she just rolled the scroll back up and put it away in her handbag together with the quill, and to Regulus’s surprise she handed him the empty scroll. He took it, against his better judgement, and had a quick look at it. The words “Dorcas Meadowes” had appeared at the top of the scroll, exactly where she had written it on the other parchment. He deposited the scroll carefully in his pocket, put his half-finished drink back on the bar, and bid Dorcas goodbye. She had made no attempt to say anything more to him, had he not been so frightened of her he would have thought that she was the one scared of him.

Once outside, Regulus was forced to come to again. There was quite the commotion outside, with people crying and screaming. Regulus could smell the combative magic in the air, and he could see an inordinate number of wizards and witches in auror robes and magical law enforcement robes. He overrode his first instinct of running away, and instead made his way towards the people, the crying and the smell of magic. That’s when he spotted his father. Orion Black was lying on a magical stretcher, pale and lifeless. Regulus stopped dead in his tracks, watched how two people in robes with the St Mungo’s emblem took hold of the stretcher and disapparated with it. Gone.

Regulus turned away and gave in to his instincts. He ran several blocks, eventually finding himself in the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was full of hysterical and excited people, all talking about the attack that had just happened. Several men in black robes and silver masks fighting what was believed to be “the Order”, the two opposing groups the _Prophet_ wrote about daily. There were three casualties, all three had been customers in Borgin and Burkes when the fighting began. Some of the fighters had been taken away by the MLE, but most had disapparated before the authorities made it to the scene. 

Regulus sat politely at the dinner table soon after, together with his mother. They were waiting for his father, but he was late. Finally, but only after a characteristically angry outburst from Walburga Black, mother and son started eating. Their husband and father did not come home that night.

It was several days later that Regulus was summoned to the Dark Lord, who, after giving his polite condolences, asked Regulus if he had command of a house elf the Dark Lord would be able to borrow. By that point Regulus had finally made his mind up.


	21. Don’t fear the reaper, baby I’m your man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Blue Öyster Cult's "The Reaper".
> 
> More angst and suspense in this chapter.

Could she trust Regulus Black? She had given him her name, she had told him she knew what he was up to. He had not reacted at all. He had taken the parchment, but he might have thrown it away and ran straight to Voldemort. Maybe Voldemort knew that she knew? Maybe she had misjudged Black? He had definitely looked up methods for destroying the cursed objects, she knew that. She had been allowed to borrow one of Alastor Moody’s invisibility cloaks for the day, and as luck had had it, she had found Black in the library that day. She had gotten close enough behind him that she was able to read exactly what he was reading, exactly what had been bothering him, and she had thought she understood what was going through his mind. Horcrux was not a word that was familiar to her, and she had spent her first day as unemployed from the _Prophet_ sitting on a different floor to Black in the library, reading up on them. Explicit instructions on how to make them were lacking, but there were plenty of horror stories about the men and women who had created one for themselves in the past, the depravity it led to, the ruined lives it left in its wake, the insanity in anyone who tried. Shortly after, she had found him in the Crystal Ball, still not having made her mind up, but he had taken the decision-making from her by coming to her. And she had taken a leap of faith and put her life in his hands. Of all the stupid things she could have done, she had put her life in the hands of a Death Eater…

She had tried to contact him since, twice. There had been no reply on her parchment. Nobody had come to kill her yet, either, but she was too scared to appreciate this as much a she should. She hadn’t been eating properly, nor sleeping. The only light in the tunnel was that she would see Professor Dumbledore next week, maybe she could request an earlier meeting?

Staring moodily at yesterday’s leftover lasagne, Dorcas decided that it could wait, and left her flat to run errands instead.

Losing her job had been awful, but expected. Her last pay check had been given in the form of a small bag of galleons as she was escorted out of the office by the new chief editor, Sedatus Whimple. And that was why Dorcas found herself in Gringotts, needing to deposit the excess cash. She kept her hood up, a habit ever since _Pure Magic_ had published her name along with her picture. She was not made for living with a target on her back, her mind was breaking. 

As she waited for the goblin in front of her to serve her (he was examining a fragile-looking necklace through a loupe), she had a look at the customer next to her. Dorcas almost had a heart attack when she realized who it was, and she made a conscious effort to hide her face more thoroughly.

The striking figure of Bellatrix Lestrange was standing at the desk next to hers, showing her goblin the contents of a small, silk box.

“No, I’m not here to get it valued, I think I know rather more of its value than you do, goblin. I wish to deposit it in my vault by myself.” Dorcas caught the shape of the object and a flash of gold, and then the lid slid back over it. Dorcas felt herself washed over with trembling fright and a strong sense of impending doom. It felt like standing next to Death.

“We will be happy to deposit it for you, Madam Lestrange. You and your family are highly esteemed customers at Gringotts, and we will be only too happy to take it down to the vault for you. We know you are a busy woman, Madam.”

“I should never have shown it to you, goblin! Think I trust any of you to handle this relic, an invaluable possession such as this? I need to go down myself, now!”

The goblin looked upset, but he quickly got out from behind his desk. Head held high he showed Bellatrix Lestrange towards the wagons that would take them down to the very deepest and biggest vaults, where Dorcas was certain the Lestrange’s vault could be found. Dorcas’s goblin finally put his necklace aside, and beckoned her forwards, a sly look on his face.

“And how can Gringotts help you today, miss?”

Faced with the modest shelf in the wall with her savings, it finally clicked in her head. Bellatrix was a known Death Eater, she possessed a deadly skill few others did, and she was thought to have joined Voldemort as a teenager. She was not even 30 yet, but she had spent a long time proving herself to her twisted master. He trusted her. He had given it to her to store, here at Gringotts. Gringotts, which was safe from break-ins, as safe as any place could possibly be. Realization washed over her, the fear she had felt in the queue subsided somewhat and was taken over by the need to tell someone what she had discovered. Professor Dumbledore and maybe Emmeline Vance needed to be told immediately. She deposited the money and let the goblin seal it back up for her. She dug through her handbag, but the only parchment she was carrying was the one twinned with Black’s parchment. Was it worth going to the Post Office to get a letter off to Dumbledore? She was calming down again, maybe if she wrote Black about what his cousin was hiding in Gringotts, she could gain his trust? She’d do that now, go have the leftover lasagne, and then she’d floo Professor Dumbledore. Hopefully Black would have responded by then, and she’d have both information on Voldemort’s mortality and a turncoat for the Order when she got to Dumbledore’s office.

She walked home on the Shambles, feeling punch drunk and giddy with her discoveries. It was a welcome relief from the constant fear and stress she had been under. Her rooftop flat was in one of the last houses on the winding street, it was a rugged beauty from the 17th Century. The downstairs was inhabited by a sweet old wizard who had lived there for over 100 years, and who had told Dorcas that he had been renting the attic out to young Hufflepuff wizards and witches ever since the first world war. 

Finally outside of the right door, Dorcas dug into her purse for her wand to unlock the door. That’s when she noticed the odd, greenish light that was lighting up the street. Surely that wasn’t the colour of the streetlamps, it had always been an old-fashioned yellow before? Dorcas backed up a few steps and the source for the green sheen became visible to her. She thought it was the most frightening thing she had ever seen, including the thestrals at Hogwarts. It was a sinister, vapoury skull, with a snake protruding out of its grinning, toothy mouth like a tongue. It was half made of green light, half made of dull smoke, and it was suspended over the roof of her house.

The door clicked open in front of her. Dorcas swallowed hard. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She snuck in, gripping her handbag painfully in her hand. The downstairs landing was deserted. It smelled of candles that had burnt out recently. She headed straight for the stairs to her room, wondering what on earth she would find as she got up. What could the green skull be? It had looked eerily familiar, but Dorcas couldn’t place it for the moment. Could it be some kind of joke, after all? Her birthday was coming up, maybe there was a surprise party waiting for her upstairs?

She opened the door to her room. The old wood and rusty iron creaked open with a lonely sigh. Her room was in shadows, deserted and still. She walked up to her table, where the lasagne was still sitting; waiting for her. She upended her handbag on the table to get to her wand, stupid of her not to have it at the ready in a situation like this. 

“Lumos”, Dorcas said to the quiet and the shadows. When she turned around, she was no longer alone. A man with black hair and a white face was standing next to the door, toying with the wand in his hand.


	22. Safety pins are none too strong; they hold my life together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from "What Katie did" by the Libertines.
> 
> In this chapter there is a warning for character death.

After checking on her potions (she almost forgot to stir anticlockwise 7 times in the tiny cauldron of dittany she kept on the window ledge in the guest room) Lily went downstairs to dig out a fresh bottle of Elf-made wine (Remus’s favourite) and await the werewolf’s arrival. She had met up with Mary MacDonald the previous day and could now move on to the next highest priority. A check-up on Remus was long overdue and Lily had a feeling that something had happened.

Sirius had been roped in for extra practice on his patronus with Moody, as he was having trouble with it again. (Dumbledore had devised a genius new communication system, but everyone needed to be able to produce corporeal patronuses for it to work, and most of the Order still needed help with the spell.) Lily had sent James to cheer up Peter, she had calculated that he needed his friends to check in on him at least every second day to get through his break-up moroseness within an acceptable timeframe. 

James hadn’t said anything about how Remus was doing, but Lily was aware that she had kept James very busy since Christmas and he might not know. Remus was exactly the type that would keep his issues to himself if he thought his friends had too much on their plate already. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but there was just so much to do before the wedding in April. All her muggle family would be invited and to have them mingle friction free with wizards for a night would take some serious spellwork and/or potions. Not to mention the minutely detailed wards that would have to be put in place for the Death Eaters (who, thanks to both Rita Skeeter and _Pure Magic_ , must know exactly who James was by now), there was also the normal planning that went into any wedding. They would need a cake, a dress, muggle suits, rings, flowers, a garden with a weather charm that wasn’t too conspicuous to muggles, and copious amounts of food and drinks. Some of said food and drinks would have to be laced with a confundus concoction that could be handed out to all of Lily’s relatives and friends who did not know that she was a witch. With James’s missions for the Order and her potion-making on the side, it left very little time for seeing friends. At least James saw Sirius on his missions, that was one Marauder sorted. And Lily had a soft spot for Peter and all the unfortunate personality traits that came with him. He needed to be seen on a regular basis by her fiancé to cope. But she had almost forgotten about Remus, and that was what she endeavoured to make up for tonight. 

The dying flames in the fireplace glowed green, and the spinning shape of Remus Lupin appeared in her fireplace. He hoovered up the soot from his robes with his wand before hugging her and handing her a badly wrapped sneakoscope. 

“We bought a few extra ones with Sirius the other day, thought we’d give one to you and one to Peter,” he said, before hesitating a little as if there was more to come.

“Thanks, Remus,” Lily said as she put down the sneakoscope on the mantelpiece. “Very thoughtful of you, and they will come in handy now that James is all over the newspapers for duelling Death Eaters. The cottage should be unplottable, and the wards are ace, much thanks to your recent work, but you can never be too careful.” Lily hugged him again to say thank you for the work he spent most of his evenings and weekends on, meticulously researching old wards and coming up with new ones. “I thought we’d have some wine and cake tonight, and gossip and catch-up. James will be over later as well, he’s making sure Peter continues on the path of cardiological healing.”

“I actually think Peter is doing better already,” said Remus, carefully choosing his words. “He let something slip at lunch that made me think… Well, never mind, it’s good of James to put up with a blue Peter on his own.”

Lily gestured towards the kitchen, but Remus still hesitated. 

“I was actually wondering if you’d come with me to Dorcas Meadowes’s place, just a quick stop. I sent her a patronus tonight, the new messaging system, you know. I want to give a sneakoscope to her too, both me and Sirius are worried about her safety. What I’m getting at is that the wolf came back to me after half a minute, a bit like muggle post when it gets returned to sender.”

Lily eyed him thoughtfully, wondering if Remus might have a soft spot for Dorcas Meadowes. As if he could read her mind, he blushed.

“I’m being creepy, then? I just thought… Well, I just got worried. Of course, it might be that I’m not good enough at the message charm, I’ve never been that fast at getting the hang of new spells.”

“You’re much better than you give yourself credit for” said Lily kindly. That much, at least, was true. “Let’s go check on her, just in case. I haven’t seen her all week as I’ve been too busy with everything else in life, I feel quite bad about all the friends I’ve neglected. We can invite her over here for cake and wine too if you’d like?”

“Thanks,” mumbled Remus, still blushing. 

And so, they flooed to the magical pub, the Five Griffins, in York. The pub was warm and loud and full of people Lily didn’t know. She thought she recognized the purple haired witch in the corner solving a cross-word puzzle, maybe someone she had seen on a night out? They left the pub immediately, however, Remus grasping a second, badly wrapped, sneakoscope. They found the Shambles quite easily and wandered towards the end of the street. Lily had visited many times the last autumn and knew where she was going. They were met by a strange, green light, and Lily immediately went for the wand in her pocket. Something that looked exactly like the tattoo all Death Eaters had on their left arm, but in green smoke and engorged, was hanging low in the sky, right above the house Dorcas lived in. The street was deserted. The door was slightly ajar, but all the windows were dark and empty. 

Remus swallowed thickly next to her and focused his wand in front of him.

“Expecto Patronum!” he whispered, and a large, silvery wolf burst through the tip of his wand. “We need help in York, Dorcas Meadowes’ house”, Remus whispered, and his wolf gave a silent howl to the skies before disappearing. 

Lily met his eyes, they both nodded once, and walked quickly and quietly to the front door, wands held steadily aloft. The door to the downstairs flat was closed, but before Lily could tell Remus that Dorcas lived upstairs, he’d opened the door beside the staircase. They were met by the sight of a frail and dishevelled man’s body on the floor. His face gaped unseeingly at the ceiling, his tufty silver hair fanned out in thin strands around his head. 

“Homenum revelio”, whispered Remus, and the charm came back with nothing. There was nobody in the house. Lily swallowed over the lump in her throat, then pulled Remus back out of the room and up the staircase. The only door at the top was closed, too, but not locked. Lily pushed it open, gently as if handling a new-born. The door creaked and groaned despite her touch, making a noise that should have been loud enough to awaken even the dead. 

Dorcas was lying in the middle of the floor in much the same way as the man downstairs, but with the difference that she had her wand in her hand, grasping it tightly in a death grip. Her eyes were open; a look of equal terror and determination lingered around her mouth and her furrowed brow. But her eyes were lacklustre and empty with no feelings left to express. 

Remus bent down next to her and put a finger to her neck, where her pulse should have made life known. Remus stayed there for at least fifteen seconds, quite unnecessarily, with his head bowed. Lily moved into the room as well, looking around. The bed was unmade in the corner, an uneaten meal was on a plate on the table. Remus joined her, looking around in much the same way as she had. Lily couldn’t think of anything to say, and so she continued looking around the room, avoiding the body on the floor. The table in front of them was messy, there was writing material, a magical typewriter and a muggle radio, and it looked as if someone had emptied Dorcas’s handbag over the table in a hurry.

From the corner of her eye, Lily could see Remus’s hands moving over a tiny scroll of parchment on the table, his lips moving as if in silent prayer. Then Remus’s fingers closed over it and with a smooth movement he tucked it into his robes. At the same time Moody entered, followed by Sirius, Marlene, Fabian and Gideon. All five had their wands in the air and stopped abruptly just inside the room when they spotted the body.

“Not Dorcas!” Marlene shouted into the reverent quiet. It was a horrible noise. Lily went over quickly and hugged her, letting Marlene cry into her shoulder. Lily tried to listen to the others over Marlene’s sobs, but it was difficult to hear anything else, So she just pulled the soft, shivering body into hers. She could see Moody asking Remus questions, presumably finding out how he and Lily had found the body. Fabian and Gideon had left the room, maybe to check on the body of the landlord downstairs. Sirius had found a bottle of Emeric's Elderflower Wine in Dorcas’s kitchen, and he was sitting on the floor next to the body, drinking and listening to Moody and Remus. 

“Okay, everybody out, now!” barked Moody suddenly, as he turned away from Remus. “I need to go through her papers and then get hold of the MLE, and none of you can be here when I do so. Out!”

Sirius and Remus appeared at Lily’s side, Remus giving a helping hand with Marlene, and Sirius still nursing his bottle as he led the way downstairs. Fabian and Gideon were happy to side-along Marlene to her home, which left Lily, Remus and Sirius skulking in the street, looking up at the morbid green lantern in the sky. 

“Do you think that Voldemort was here himself?” whispered Lily, eyes on the green skull. 

“That thing is his business card, you mean?” mumbled Sirius and he shivered from the cold and the fright, despite the alcohol. 

“Not to be disrespectful, but why would he have come to kill her himself? He’s not shown himself in any of the Order fights, I’ve gotten the impression that Voldemort prefers working in the shadows, lets his Death Eaters do all the dirty work,” Remus countered quietly.

“Maybe she was researching something important to him,” suggested Lily, but she was almost ready to agree that she’d jumped to conclusions.

At her words, however, Sirius and Remus exchanged worried looks.

“Do either of you know what she was researching?” Lily asked. She wondered if they, too, knew that Dorcas had been researching Severus, maybe they were worried about mentioning his name in her presence. 

“Haven’t got the faintest,” said Remus, and Sirius said nothing.


	23. Don’t overreact; I pretended he was you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "I Heard Love is Blind" by Amy Winehouse.
> 
> Contains a little bit of smut.

“Did you hear that they lost the body?”

“What body?” asked Gideon confused.

Gideon, Fabian and Benjy were sitting in the twins’ kitchen in Reading, an array of used tea mugs and plates and whisky tumblers in front of them.

“Dorcas Meadows’s, of course. When the aurors, the MLE and the healers from St Mungo’s finally arrived on the scene, the body was gone. I’ve never seen Moody so angry in my life. We have no idea how it was removed, or by whom. Moody says he only left Dorcas to check on the body downstairs, and to send a message to auror headquarters. I was talking to Hestia Jones and Isolde Bones earlier, and they were speculating that it might have been an attempt to lessen the Order’s credibility, or possibly just discredit Moody personally. Officially, he is the one who found her, and the only one who saw her before the officials arrived. It’s difficult to even prove that there have been two murders committed now that there is just the one body. Miss Bones said that she’s personally written the obituary for the _Prophet_ , though, so it will get out that Dorcas was murdered and what the Dark Mark is. Unlucky for Voldemort that she worked for the _Prophet_ , and that Bones can still get a favour in.”

“It all sounds insane, I can’t believe any of this is actually happening” said Fabian, shaking his head in confusion.

“I can’t believe Dorcas is actually dead,” said Gideon, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to get this new information in. Voldemort was gaining on them, rounding them up and not even respecting their dead by the looks of it. 

“Not the only mad thing that’s happened this week, though, is it?”

Gideon pressed his hands over his eyes instead, wanting to drown out what his brother was hinting at. Gideon had fired the jinx that had killed Orion Black earlier in the week. Gideon was the first person in the Order to have killed someone (except Moody, but who counted Moody?), be it completely by accident. He had aimed a stunning spell at a Death Eater, missed, and it had hit the already stunned body of Orion Black. He had died from it, quick and insentient. The wizard had been 50, so not very old at all, but apparently 2 powerful stunning spells had done the job. Fabian and their sister Molly had told him with no little certainty that it wasn’t his fault; Gideon had been fighting in a life and death situation, there had been so many fighters on both sides, screaming bystanders caught in the middle, and it was really a miracle that only three people had died. The couple had been killed by two killing curses thrown by the same, masked, Death Eater. The Death Eater had been aiming for Moody both times.

One of the Death Eaters had stunned Orion Black first, anyway, likely also by mistake. The dead man might have had a weak heart or some other underlying health-issue that had contributed to his death. Gideon had done the right thing; stunning spells were exactly the thing to do according to protocol. And Gideon had not even known he was dead until hours afterwards. 

He had been patched up and was ready to go home when Moody had taken him aside and explained, as gently as it was possible for Moody to explain anything, that Orion Black had died as a result of two stunning spells. Moody had seen Gideon cast one of them, but it seemed nobody else had. It would be best kept that way, Moody explained, as Black had been a very influential figure in wizarding society. As if that was news to Gideon. Moody continued, almost kindly, to say that Gideon was likely to be killed in his sleep if it came out that he was one of the people responsible. The whole Black family was unhinged, he assured, and they had the money to pay and bribe their way to any revenge they saw fitting. As it was now, Black’s death would be ruled as accidental, while that of the Goldstein’s would be ruled as murder by an unknown person.

Almost all the Order had managed to vacate the scene, many of them injured, before the officials got there. Frank and Alice Longbottom had received warnings and fines for their part in the fight, since they had still been present when the MLE and the first aurors had shown up. As luck would have it, their wands showed that they had used no harmful hexes or jinxes, and even Rita Skeeter had had a difficult time painting them black in the _Prophet_. It also helped that Frank and Alice were training to become aurors, they had inadvertently proven that they had what it took to become professionals. Three Death Eaters had ended up in custody, however, and that had made quite the splash in the papers. Two of them had had the dark mark, and one of them had a wand with which both the imperius and the cruciatus curse had been cast with recently. All three were now awaiting trial for their participation in the fight in Knockturn Alley, and the third would have a separate trial for the use of the unforgivable curses. Skeeter had come up with a heap of disgusting crimes she thought the three men may have committed, none of which were correct as far as the Order knew. But they weren’t complaining as it kept focus off their little group. The dark mark, which had now shown up in tattoo form and in the sky after the double murder in York, was quickly capturing the imagination of the wizarding world, and there was a kind of self-indulgent panic about tattoos and mystic lights spreading through the country, spurred on by the _Daily Prophet_.

Everything was coming to a head and Gideon was feeling the pressure with the rest of them. He had not known Dorcas Meadowes at all, but the whole Order was of course attending her funeral next weekend. Seeing more dead bodies had been awful. And then there was Sirius’s father… Gideon was almost 100% sure that it was Sirius’s father, although there were a few men with stars for names and black hair in the wizarding world (all closely related). Orion Black had looked a lot like Sirius; a little bit slighter and a lot neater, but their faces had been almost identical. Gideon shuddered as unbidden memories surfaced; how close his mouth had been to a face just like that, not to mention other body parts. He knew Sirius wanted nothing to do with that family anymore: Sirius’s own brother was a confirmed Death Eater for Merlin’s sake. Nevertheless, he didn’t think he could tell Sirius about his role in his father’s death. Moody had said they were all unhinged; what if Sirius… 

Gideon had told Fabian, his sister Molly, and Benjy about the stunning spell. The three people in his life he was sure he could trust, the three people he loved. They had all been more than nice about it and assured him that it wasn’t a big deal so many times he almost believed them. Dorcas’s death had come almost as a relief, as terrible as that sounded. He could grieve her unfortunate death without also feeling responsible.

Molly had left them some amazing cinnamon buns, there had been 15 in the basket when she left. Now there were three, Gideon counted. As it was just himself, Fabian and Benjy in the house, it was rather impressive. Not for long, though.

When Sirius showed up, unannounced and mostly unwanted, this left rather a conundrum. If only there had been four buns left, Gideon thought anxiously. (He was purposefully directing his nerves to this problem, because it was real and it was tangible. Sirius couldn’t know, that couldn’t be why he was here.)

“You alright, Black?” Benjy sounded parts worried, parts uninterested. Some spiteful people called Sirius the uncrowned drama queen of the Order, and Benjy was perhaps understandably reluctant to show too much interest even when Sirius showed up out of the blue with a ripped t-shirt, no winter coat and a black eye. Being generous and handing out cigarettes to them at parties was not enough to build a proper friendship on, certainly not by Benjy’s standards. And now there was this extra complication, he could read the worry in Benjy’s eyes. (What if Sirius knew what Gideon had done? But Gideon wasn’t allowing himself to think about that.) Fabian was good friends with Sirius by now, after all they had spent days and days together working for the Order. Still, Gideon had no idea how Sirius had found their house, it wasn’t as if either of them had ever invited Sirius over.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Sirius, scratching the side of his bruised eye. 

“Would you like some dittany on that?” asked Gideon, while Benjy and Fabian exchanged looks. 

“You’ve got some upstairs?” inquired Sirius in an innocent tone that fooled nobody. Gideon swallowed loudly and refused to meet his twin’s eye. 

“Yeah, this way”, he said lamely, leading the way upstairs and into his bedroom. There would be no dittany there, but he didn’t think Sirius expected any. 

Gideon closed his bedroom door with his wand and muttered a silencing charm. He had his back to Sirius, hoping this would serve to make himself penitent and unthreatening. He waited, wand loosely at his side. Then Sirius was there, right behind him, hands moving confidently over his back, finding the knots a bad mattress and the stress of killing a man had given Gideon, pawing none too gently at the tight little bumps until Gideon felt tension being released from them. His wand dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Sirius pushed him towards the closest wall, maintaining a tight grip on his sides; fingers digging as if to explore none-existent paths through Gideon’s muscles and ribs, and his sensitive, bare neck was reacting to Sirius’s heavy breathing and prickly stubble. He clearly hadn’t shaved, showered or brushed his teeth in days, and Gideon was torn between disgust and fright and need. Sirius was unashamedly hard, rubbing himself against him with barely more restraint than a dog would show. Gideon grabbed hold of the sides of the wardrobe and let himself be pushed up against it and held in place. Sirius’s teeth got hold of the shoulder seam on his shirt; he got a little bit of skin caught between his teeth in the process, and Gideon groaned against the wardrobe door as Sirius continued to rip and tear through the fabric and skin, hands now groping Gideon’s arse. He was too horny: he would have to let this happen. If he stayed like this, facing the wardrobe, it would be alright; he was an innocent man. And he could pretend that the man now working his flies open was someone other than Sirius, someone who mattered.


	24. If I swallow anything evil put your finger down my throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from The Who's "Behind Blue Eyes".
> 
> Warning for unhealthy coping methods.

Sirius toppled over into the red leather sofa and tried to blend in with the textures. The left side of his head was pounding, his neck felt as if someone was still digging their teeth into him, his thigh- and arse muscles were killing him, and his cock felt wrung out and spent. He needed a shower. He really needed a cigarette but was trying not to give his habit away. They all knew, of course, but he thought it was better to keep up the charade. The other Marauders all disapproved, he'd always known that, but since Lily had joined their little gang everyone’s disgust with his addictions had become much more pronounced. They now acted as though they weren’t afraid of voicing their opinions, and as if Sirius’s health was a collective issue it was alright to have an opinion on, alright to discuss even when he wasn’t around. It wasn’t just his smoking either; if only… Remus had been stressing about his drinking and his one-night-stands ever since graduation. He likely had thought that Sirius would grow out of it when faced with the real world. Not a chance. Sirius had money, a beautiful face, a good body, and a mouth that expressed itself faster than his brain could digest. His only job, his only footprint in this world, was fighting for a rebel organization that was trying to save the world. It was a given that he would spend his spare time drinking, smoking, running his mouth, and bedding anything that would have him. Those were the best distractions he knew, his way of keeping sane in a world that demanded him to risk his life and his sanity on a daily basis. 

Actually, there was one distraction that was better. His friends. The Marauders, and now Lily as well. Remus and Peter had fulltime jobs, and the Order on top of that. James and Lily had each other, their relationship was clearly just a lazy excuse of a fulltime job. And so, Sirius had his liquor, his lays, his cigarettes and his motorbike instead. James understood this, he knew, but Remus still didn’t. Or maybe he did but thought that Sirius’s lifestyle was too likely to kill him. And Remus was right, too, more perceptive than James. Sirius was not living his life betting on a long run. He was here to give and take with all the love and fury he possessed. He was here to feel, even when all his senses had been dulled past the acceptable. He was here to experience; he needed stories on the off chance that he did live to tell the tale. And he needed to act those same experiences out in public so the others would remember him when he went, prematurely and permanently.

“You need to slow down, mate.” Remus’s voice was much kinder today, breaking through his hangover-induced self-pity. Maybe he had been forgiven.

“I need to slow down,” admitted Sirius carefully to the sofa cushion. He meant it too. Maybe today was the day he broke the chain to whatever beast it was he was feeding? 

Last week was a blur. Dorcas had died, and it was awful and infuriating in equal measure. Orion Black had died, and Sirius’s only urge had been to buy flowers for whoever had done it. Then Giorgia, the Italian girl, had shown up on a surprise visit and stayed with him for days. Sirius had had no other responsibilities just then; except perhaps to grieve, and so they had only left his bed to buy more alcohol and take-away. Sirius knew it hadn’t been fair on Remus; Moony had been stressed out of his mind about Dorcas’s death and worried that his colleagues were figuring out he was a werewolf. He would have needed to talk. Giorgia had left after five days and gone back to Italy, but no sooner had she walked out the door than Sirius and Remus had both been called on by the Order. Peter and Marlene had been cornered, hidden in a shop in Knockturn Alley, and needed immediate assistance. Remus was still not very quick in a duel, although he was getting better. Sirius had, still drunk from his five-day bender, thrown himself into the shop before everyone else, and taken the brunt of the curses and hexes fired. The Death Eaters were outnumbered by the Order, and they had fled through the fireplace in the shop. Sirius was told off afterwards by Moody, and later by Lily. Moody was upset that Sirius hadn’t followed protocol but instead thrown himself in before they had agreed on a game plan. He could have been killed. Lily was livid that Sirius had gone in without checking that the others were with him, that he had back up. What about James? Sirius could have been killed, and then what was her fiancé supposed to do? It had almost sobered him up.

Remus had followed him back to the flat when he had fled from the disapproval and the fright the rest of the Order were projecting. It was getting too close now, Dorcas was dead and none of Sirius’s friends seemed to know what they were doing. The thought that Peter and Marlene could have been next had scared Sirius more than he could formulate in words. Remus had talked quietly and angrily at him. Sirius had almost no memory of what had been said, he had opened another Firewhisky bottle as soon as he got home. The only thing he remembered Remus saying was that he needed Sirius to clean up after himself and his guests; he had gestured to the empty take-away cartons and cigarette packets and then to the floor by the window in their shared sitting room. Sirius had cut Giorgias hair when she arrived (on her request), and the discarded hair was still there in a pile on the floor, looking like a dead animal. Sirius had thought at the time that he had probably missed some of the finer points Remus had been making, but he had really needed the drink. Peter wasn’t dead, though, and so Sirius could continue living. 

He had left the flat soon after that, not bothering to shower or even change his clothes, still clutching his half-empty bottle. He had only the vaguest recollection of where he had gone and who he had gone home with that night, fuelled by alcohol, his libido and nothing else. It had been rough and painful and made him feel next to nothing. Next thing he remembered he was having sex again, taking Gideon against an old wardrobe. It had not made Sirius feel any better, and he had registered that Gideon had whispered Benjy Fenwick’s name as he came. 

There was a smell of pickled cucumber and smoked ham, and Sirius lifted his stinging neck to locate the food. Remus was sitting down on the floor in front of him with two large sandwiches on a plate. 

“Muggles call it coping mechanisms,” said Remus and handed him one of the sandwiches.

“They call food coping mechanisms?” asked Sirius, purposefully obtuse. 

“Food can be one too, yes. So can drinking, excessive promiscuity or adrenaline or whatever it is you’re indulging in. You’re using all of that to drown out the stress you’re feeling.”

Sirius didn’t have a reply to this, so he just ate. He felt sure there was more to it than just stress, but he knew Remus and he was likely putting things delicately so as not to offend anyone. Remus was speaking in his professor voice, which meant he was right and had the facts to back everything he said up. They finished their sandwiches in silence, and then Remus healed the bruise over his eye.

“I’ve got a new tattoo,” Sirius remembered out loud. He wrestled with his shredded t-shirt and then tried to remember which arm he had gotten it on. Remus had pointedly turned away, Sirius smelled atrociously and there was a plethora of bitemarks and mouth-sized bruises all around his shoulders and chest.

“Found it!” Sirius shoved his left inner arm towards his friend. It was two dark red runes, one on top of the other. The skin around them was sore and inflamed-looking. Remus deigned to look at him then, and carefully stroked a finger over the angry red skin with the new symbols. Before Remus could finish reading, his touch had triggered the magical tattoo to transform. In English the word _mugglefucker_ was now visible, running down the inside of Sirius’s arm. 

Remus snorted, a perfect mix of amusement and exasperation visible on his tired face. “Why would you want that permanently on your skin?”

“It’s another one of my coping mechanisms,” Sirius explained. They shared a grin, which made Sirius feel better. As soon as Remus had removed his hand from the text it had gone back to runes. Remus took the empty plate and got up from the floor, but instead of going to the kitchen he stayed there, hovering nervously. Sirius waited.

“Dumbledore has asked me to go and live with a werewolf pack in Wales. It would be an undercover mission.”

“You can’t do that!” Sirius was shocked but determined. What was Dumbledore playing at? Remus wasn’t a real werewolf, not like that.

“I’ve got until tonight to make my decision. I lost my job a few days ago, they figured out what I am. It feels fitting that I should go where I’m needed the most.”

“You can’t seriously be considering it?” Sirius could feel cold sweat appearing all over his back. This was a nightmare. “The Order needs you to do work on the wards. And you’re becoming an accomplished duellist, you were great yesterday.”

“I’m not good enough, Sirius. And they’ve got other people working on wards now. There’s an old friend of Hestia Jones’s who is a bit of an expert, and he has been persuaded to join the Order. I’m leaving my work for him, I had some new things to contribute with when it came to warding against dark creatures, but other than that I wasn’t able to come up with much.”

“You’re selling yourself short, as always. Remus, we need you here, the Order does, but me and James and Peter as well. And you’re not fit to live with werewolves, the ones living in packs are supposed to be like feral animals. You’re human all the time, except for that one night a month. They’ll kill you.”

“I’m tougher than you think,” Remus said quietly, nervously picking at a hole in his jumper. He wasn’t, and they both knew it. 

“We need you here,” Sirius repeated, desperation creeping into his voice. 

“It won’t be forever, it’s just to try and persuade some of them to join our side. They’re already allying themselves with Voldemort.”

“I won’t have it, Moony. I’ll do anything, James and Pete too.” Sirius was begging now, and it did not suit him.

“They don’t know about this, yet. I was supposed to keep it completely quiet, not supposed to tell you either. But seeing you over the past few days, I couldn’t leave without explaining where I’m going.”

Crying was the only thing left in Sirius’s arsenal. He didn’t know if he could still do it, but he would have to try. Remus wasn’t allowed to go on a suicide mission, especially not on his own. It was at that exact moment that one of the parchments on the sofa table glowed red.


	25. I don’t want to die, I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen.
> 
> This chapter contains a warning for dead bodies.

Regulus Black had been under for 30 seconds. The slimy bones that curled around his ankle had been joined by two meatier hands on his hips. These hands still had some remnants of flesh on them; slimy, drooping flesh that was continually dislodged, pressed to the side, pushed beyond its natural limit and scraped away from the bone. The bony fingers, the rotting submerged flesh, the vice-like grip on his body all belonged to a dead woman. 

45 seconds. Her eye-sockets were turned towards Regulus’s face, as if he had requested to see what the Dark Lord’s inferi looked like after marinating in seawater. What he himself would look like given time. The inferius clinging to his hipbones looked like the Hufflepuff Dorcas Meadowes. Regulus would have vomited, if vomiting underwater was a thing. 

50 seconds. He filled his mouth with water, careful not to swallow it. He could see a bit of wet, greying flesh, torn and stretched and void of its former shape, floating in front of his face. It might have been flesh from any of Meadowes’ fingers, it was quite impossible to say. He wondered if the water in his mouth contained particles of her decaying flesh. Her hair looked like light green, very thin maggots that were feasting on her head like a gloria of the watery grave they were in.

60 seconds and Regulus had turned his face down from the empty face in front of him to look at the flesh formerly of the inferius’s hands being pushed and torn from its skeletal home, some bits still stuck to the fingers, others free-floating in the water around Regulus and the inferius. The water was clearer than expected and lit up with the by now familiar green sheen, and Regulus could count 17 inferi in the 10 metre half-radius in front of him. He assumed there were plenty behind him as well. 

75 seconds. Now there were hands digging into his shoulders as well. He started coughing in the water, and his eye-sight went immediately. Much like vomiting, coughing was not a done thing under water. Regulus did a bit of both, he could feel the sickening masses of water, the absolute dead weight hitting his throat with a burning roar, like wet, slippery fire. It burned its way down through Regulus taking every bit of his consciousness in its wake, excruciating, never again, no more, dead weight, dead body, new corpse courtesy of his suffocating lungs. 

90 seconds. If Regulus had still been conscious, he would have noticed that the hand on his ankle and the hands on his hips had been torn off. The hands grasping his robes by the shoulders with fingernails digging deep, deep into his collarbones had not let go, but were still pulling desperately at him. 

When Regulus woke up mid-vomit, vision darting between clear and blurry, both his brother and Remus Lupin were there. Sirius was drenched through to the bone just like himself, and his two rescuers had eyes currently the size of saucers. It was refreshing, really, to see two people with eye sockets filled to the brim with eyes; squishy, alive and wet with tears or sea water. 

Regulus’s robes had been disposed of and Remus Lupin’s hands were still hovering above Regulus’s pale, pasty chest as if they had just been performing some sort of action. They probably had, too; Regulus could feel how much his chest hurt. The water he had vomited over his neck and the rock below him would account for the burning sensation in his lungs and throat, but his chest definitely felt as if someone had been pounding on it, intent on leaving fist-sized bruises. 

“Water.” Regulus wasn’t sure if his voice carried sufficiently to make himself heard, but there was no water forthcoming as far as he could see. Sirius, his long-lost brother, had sunk down to the rocky ground, hair covering his face completely from view, one of his large pale hands grasping his wand in such a tight grip that the wand was smoking. His other hand was stumbling blindly over the sharp rocks on the ground, in a futile attempt to steady himself, ripping open the skin on his fingers, blood mingling with the thick and salty water the black rocks glistened with. Lupin’s face appeared in front of Regulus’s, blocking out Sirius from view.

“I’ve tried to conjure water for you, but I’m afraid the cave is enchanted to prevent it. We’ll need to get out of here, and then we can get you water.”

Regulus did not have the presence of mind to respond, he was certain he would be dead before they got him out of the cave anyway. There was no way a man could survive this type of thirst; it felt as if all the blood in his body was being drained from him to try to counter the ravenous need for water. He opened his mouth a little, some of his hair was plastered to the side of his face and he managed to get at the salty wet strands with his tongue. The remains of the spew in his mouth felt like ash, the inside of his mouth like brittle paper. Regulus wanted to cry, but there was no liquid left for such an expression of death bed emotion. 

“We’ll have to try and levitate him, Sirius. The boat won’t take more than one of us, and he isn’t responding to anything I say.”

“You take the boat over first, we’ll levitate him together when you’re on the other side.”

Regulus felt a spell being performed on him, something to make him weigh less was his conclusion. He could recognize his brother’s specific brand of magic, brash and forceful as ever. 

“You shouldn’t have done that, I don’t think he’ll survive much more magic.”

There was a long pause, and Regulus listened to the sounds of a boat manoeuvring choppy water in the distance. Then he felt hands on his neck and shoulders, reminding him horribly of the inferi.

“You’re not allowed to die on me now, not after we came all this way to save you,” Sirius whispered in his ear. 

When he came to again, he was floating on his side and there were dead heads sticking up from the dark green water underneath him. One of them made a sudden leap, skeletal arms reaching for him, but he was too high up. Next, he vaguely remembered being magically tied to his brother’s back as he swam, but they must have been out of the cave because there were no inferi attacking them. After that, mercifully, his next memory was of clean, life-giving water pouring down his throat.

“Thank you,” he managed to sob out once he’d had his fill. He was too tired to open his eyes, and the rest of his senses were filled with seawater and vomit.

“We’ll have to try and disapparate now, Regulus, since we’re still in the middle of fucking nowhere. You’ll hang in there?”

“Yes” Regulus rasped out, and he was lifted off the ground. By the sound of his brothers laboured groans, Regulus assumed that he was back to his full weight now. He leaned into his brother (he really didn’t have the strength for anything else) and his brother disapparated them both away, clutching him in an awkward embrace. Their feet hit the ground roughly, and Regulus’s nose registered the tell-tale smells of London: muggle traffic, dirty pavements and greasy spoons. The sound of the ocean was gone too, instead there were the noises of hundreds of purposeful people going home from work, of cars and buses, and of sirens in the distance. Regulus had truly made it back from the clutches of Death. 

Another body appeared by their side, and Lupin took one of his arms over his shoulder, while Sirius kept the other, and together they made their stumbling way into a worn-down but modern block of flats. Regulus’s eyes were still smarting whenever he tried to open them, so he kept them mostly shut as they made their way to a scary-looking muggle lift. After surviving the lift, too, Regulus was led into a scruffy flat that looked exactly like his brother’s idea of homely and comfortable. No furniture anyone would have to be careful around, shelves filled with books and records, and lots of cushions and blankets. Regulus also noted the vast amount of empty Firewhisky bottles and he concluded that his brother hadn’t changed much in three years. 

He wasn’t dumped in the mess of blankets and cushions on and around the sofa, but instead led into the bathroom and lifted into the bath. Regulus forced his eyes to open fully and noted, somewhat embarrassedly, that he was in his underwear. That would help explain why he was shivering like someone with a high fever.

Sirius unceremoniously filled the tub with warm water, soap, and threw in two rubber ducks. One of them was the normal bright yellow, the other one was red with devil horns. Regulus carefully stretched out his aching body, daring a quick look at himself. His chest would no doubt bruise by tomorrow, as would his shoulders. There were some scary, black marks on his hips, with a jolt Regulus realized that these were the marks the inferius had left. He lifted his right leg a little for inspection; that ankle, too, bore a deceased-looking black bruise. He looked up and found Sirius watching him. He was shivering in his wet clothes. Lupin had left the bathroom. 

“You’ve burst blood vessels in your eyes, if you sit still I can try to fix them for you.”

“You don’t sound very confident in your healing skills”, Regulus rasped out, but he tilted his face up and held still nonetheless. Sirius drew two wands out of his wet trouser pocket, one of them was Regulus’s. He aimed his own wand directly in Regulus’s face, and Regulus swallowed audibly, throat lumpy and sore. His eyes met his brother’s, and for a second he thought Sirius might curse him. Then he felt most of the pain leave his eyes as they healed. 

Lupin entered the bathroom again, he was carrying two small bottles, a patched morning gown and his wand. 

“Better get him out of the bath now, Sirius, and we can try to heal those bruises. You need a bath or shower yourself, too.”

And so, Regulus found himself being lifted out of the bath in an equally undignified manner to how he had been dumped there minutes before. Sirius blasted a warm drying-spell over him, which made his hair stand out in all directions, and wrapped him in the bathrobe before carrying him to the nest of cushy blankets he had spotted earlier. His brother then stripped, unceremoniously and unashamedly in the middle of the sitting room, and wandered into the bathroom. Regulus noticed that his brother appeared to be just as bruised and battered as he was. Lupin sighed a little at the display before turning his attention to Regulus. 

“Ready to tell us what on earth you were doing in that cave?”


	26. I’ve been following your mind’s instructions on how to slowly, sharply screw myself to death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Horror Show" by the Libertines.

Remus took in the pitiful boy with the tousled hair and the frightened eyes nestled in fluffy blankets on his sofa. The boy who had that hateful Dark Mark burnt into his arm, and who had dead-looking bruises on his body, left by evil corpses that had tried their best to drown him. 

“Would you like some tea?” he asked softly, not expecting a reply on this question either. Regulus nodded this time, however, and his ingrained manners surfaced as well.

“Please,” he said in a hoarse voice. 

Remus left him on the sofa but kept a close eye on him from beside the kettle, wand at the ready in his hand. It was a good job that there was no separate kitchen in their little flat. 

“Milk and sugar?” he asked, already adding splashes of milk to his and Sirius’s cups. 

“Yes please,” the boy said. He really looked remarkably like Sirius, Remus thought, but where Sirius had looked a bit older than his years ever since he hit puberty, Regulus barely looked seventeen, especially without his expensive robes. He had the same face, but rounder and smoother, and his body was slighter and looked more delicate. Remus brought the cups back to the sofa with the aid of his wand and handed the one with both sugar and milk to Regulus. It was disconcerting to see his best friend’s light grey eyes in the face of a Death Eater, meeting his eyes with such a calculating but also frightened look. 

Remus opened the bottle of murtlap extract and started applying it to the blackened ankle that was sticking out from the pillow den on the sofa. Regulus looked awkward about being touched but appeared to be too exhausted to protest. He did reach for the bottle himself to apply the murtlap to his hips, which was just as well. Sirius came barging out the door, still naked, and with much more energy than someone who had lived on alcohol and sex instead of food and sleep for a whole week should be able to exhibit, or so Remus privately thought. Mercifully he put trousers on before he joined them.

“You’ll be needing some of the murtlap, too, I almost forgot” said Remus wryly, taking in the unappetizing marks on Sirius’s body. Regulus had stopped applying the salve in favour of staring at the obvious bitemarks on his brother. 

“Did the inferi do that to you?” Regulus asked horrified, making Sirius grin. 

“No, she was very much alive, thanks for asking” Sirius responded airily, and reached for the bottle. Regulus dropped it in his hand with a frown of disgust that made Sirius laugh out loud. 

“I take it you don’t want to hear more about my sex life, so why don’t you tell us about this object you were trying to retrieve from the cave instead?”

Regulus inhaled sharply through his mouth and shook his head wildly. 

“It’s too dangerous, Sirius. This isn’t some funny joke, it’s life and death.”

“We’ve just saved your life, very much risking our own while at it. You’re telling us, and that’s the end of it.”

Regulus stared at his brother for a moment, then turned his gaze to Remus. Remus felt himself being judged, not a new sensation for him, but an unwelcome one nonetheless. He grasped his wand even more tightly, ready for immediate action should Regulus turn out to be more dangerous than they thought.

“While I appreciate what you did, I really can’t. And if you want me to stay alive, you can’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. They all need to believe I’m dead; the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, and… And Mother, too.”

“You can trust me,” Remus tried, quietly. “We know a little bit about this already, so it’s just as well that you fill us in. You’re spying for our side, and trying to take down the other side, is this correct? And what you did tonight is something Dorcas Meadowes knew about, too? It’s the reason she was killed?”

Regulus shivered in his nest of blankets and looked as if he wanted to throw up. Instead he reached for his teacup. 

“Saying things like that will be plenty to get you both killed,” he muttered unhappily.

“Did Voldemort kill Dorcas himself?” asked Sirius.

Regulus jumped at the name and spilt a little bit of tea on his hand.

“Yes,” he responded in a ragged whisper. “He said he had taught a journalist a lesson, but I didn’t know that meant her until today. I don’t think he knew how much she knew, but he must have known that there was a tiny risk…”

“That he knew about the object you retrieved in the cave?”

“No, not that one. He doesn’t know that I or anyone else knows about that one. She wrote to me…”

Here Remus snatched the parchment he had stolen from Dorcas’s apartment with his free hand, and read the message he thought was relevant out loud:

“Me again. I’ve just been to Gringotts and seen your cousin B leave a golden cup that reeked of darkness in her vault. If this is what you’re after, get in touch. I can help you.”

“Bellatrix must have recognized her,” Regulus said. “I think the Dark Lord killed her on the off chance that she had seen the cup. I don’t think he knows how much she knew about it; her murder was just him being cautious. This is mostly guesswork on my part, though.”

“And what is this cup? You retrieved a similar one in the cave?”

“I can’t tell you,” whispered Regulus, and succumbed to tears. Sirius reacted quickly and saved the teacup. Then he tried to hug his brother while Regulus made faint attempts to push him off. “You don’t want me here, not after the things I’ve done. It’s not what you think, I haven’t turned a spy for the Order. I just decided to do this on my own. He’ll kill me, and he’ll kill you once he figures out what I’ve done”, Regulus was sobbing into Sirius’s shoulder at this point. 

Remus met Sirius’s eyes over the crying boy, and he nodded decisively. He wanted to know.

“We both want to hear the story Regulus, even if that gives Voldemort one more reason to see us dead. They’re already trying to kill me, and Moony…” Sirius broke off before he said too much. “Dorcas was right, we can help you. The whole Order, or just us if you prefer. We’re fighting to take him down, anything you can contribute with is welcome.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Sirius, you have to promise me not to tell anyone else,” Regulus gave Remus another appraising look. He looked very unhappy about the situation.

“I may not be a pureblood, but I am a decent wizard,” Remus said, keeping the irritation out of his voice. “I’m good at research, and I’m rather good at dealing with dark creatures, amongst other things. And I have just helped save your life. That should count for something.”

“Okay,” said Regulus, still sounding unhappy. “But you might be killed because of it. And you can’t tell anyone, not anyone in your little Order, nobody at all.”

“We promise,” Remus said in unison with Sirius. Their eyes met again over Regulus’s head.

“The Dark Lord has made horcruxes,” Regulus began without further ado. “It means he’s splinched his soul and hidden pieces away, in an attempt to make himself immortal. If you found him today and aimed the killing curse at him, he wouldn’t die from it.”

Remus let this information sink in, battling a feeling of nausea as it did. 

“Horcruxes, as in many? Surely you can only make one?” asked Sirius, looking appalled and confused. 

“I thought it was just one, too, at first,” said Regulus quietly. His voice was barely audible, and his face looked dead with fright and disgust. “You have to murder to make one, actually it’s worse than murder, there’s a complicated ritual. I only heard about an object that used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff, an object he’d bewitched. He dropped a hint during a speech that he’d made himself immortal, and I figured it out from there. But then this Dorcas Meadowes started following me, and she somehow figured out what I was up to. That I was planning to steal the horcrux and destroy it. She made contact with me, as you can see from that parchment. I had a duplicate. But I didn’t know where the horcrux was, just that he’d given it to Bellatrix for safe-keeping. Then, out of the blue, the Dark Lord asked if he could borrow Kreacher. It was chance, really, but the order I gave Kreacher ended with me telling him to come home once he’d helped the Dark Lord. It was a direct order, he had to follow it, and so he managed to take himself back to me after drinking that potion in the cave.”

“Kreacher the house elf was in that cave and drank that potion?” Sirius looked gobsmacked at this item of news.

“Yes, the Dark Lord had the horcrux with him, he wanted to test the potion and the inferi on someone. I had no idea I’d sent Kreacher on a suicide mission. But he came back, even though the Dark Lord left him for dead in the cave after he’d drunk the potion. I think he must’ve apparated back, even though I wasn’t able to apparate in there. He was more dead than alive when I found him, but he survived. And was able to tell me what had happened, he told me that the item Voldemort had put in the basin with the potion was a locket, a locket with an emerald “S” on it. That confused me, because I was expecting it to be a relic of Hufflepuff. It was soon after that that Dorcas messaged me, and I learnt that there was another one in Gringotts, one that corresponds to Hufflepuff’s golden cup.”

“So, there are two,” mused Remus, fascinated by the tale, nausea slowly dissipating as his mind raced.

Regulus nodded, but then he shook his head. “I think there might be one more.”

“Three horcruxes?” Sirius said, mouth curling in disgust. “Not much humanity left in Voldemort, is there? I thought creating a horcrux was a sure-fire way to go insane.”

“I thought we were all in agreement that he’s bonkers,” said Remus mildly. “And you’re forgetting that three is a very powerful magical number.”

“Fine, the madman’s made three horcruxes. What I’m asking myself right now, however, is what you were thinking, Regulus? You would have died, tonight, had me and Remus not showed up as your knights in shining armour.”

“That’s why I wrote to Dorcas, explaining where she could find the locket,” whispered Regulus, new tears welling in his eyes.

“’Second one can be collected from Kreacher the house elf on Saturday at 12 noon on top of Primrose Hill. Lucius Malfoy might have a third one. Retrieving 2nd one now from Ebony Cove in Devon’”, Remus read from Dorcas’s parchment. “You really didn’t know she was already dead?” Remus looked sadly at the crying boy, he had probably hoped that it wouldn’t be a suicide mission, but that Dorcas would show up and help him out in the cave. She hadn’t, of course, and Regulus had continued with his mission regardless, all the while knowing that that would be the end of him. 

Remus fixed his gaze on Sirius, who looked to be on the verge of tears as well. Angry tears, but tears nonetheless. 

“The locket is safe with the house elf until Saturday,” Remus deduced. “And said house elf thinks you’re dead?”

“Yes. I’ve told him he’s not allowed to tell anyone what happened to me, not even Mother. I gave him a description of Dorcas and told him to bring the locket to her, at the specified time and place. I didn’t know she was a journalist, it never entered my head that it could have been her that died.”

“You wrote that Malfoy might have the third one?” said Sirius.

“I overheard the Dark Lord talking to Bellatrix about the cup, but before that happened both Bellatrix and Lucius were hinting that they had been given special missions from the Dark Lord, that he trusted them more than all the other Death Eaters. That’s why I think he might have a third one.”

“Makes sense,” agreed Remus, then he lifted a pillow from the floor and wrapped his arms around it in a comforting hug. He was equal amounts scared and thrilled as the mystery unravelled before him. “You said that the locket had an emerald letter S on it?”

“Probably Salazar Slytherin’s”, Regulus agreed, voice breaking a little with the effort to keep talking. “The third one is likely to be Ravenclaw’s, or maybe Gryffindor’s. He’s talked about how much he admires the founders of Hogwarts, about their immense magical power and talent.” 

“This is madness,” murmured Sirius. “How did you have the guts to do this, Regulus? I always took you for a complete push-over and coward, but here you are plotting the destruction of the scariest wizard on the planet, and walking into your own death.”

“If you knew what I’d done you wouldn’t call me brave,” mumbled Regulus.

“This has got to make up for some of that,” said Sirius kindly, and gave Remus a questioning look. Remus nodded in agreement. Handing them information like this certainly counted for something.

“What do we do now?” asked Regulus hoarsely.

“We destroy all of Voldemort’s horcruxes,” said Remus immediately. “We’ll try to figure it out between the three of us,” he continued, although he could already tell that Sirius was regretting that particular promise. “We can hide you here, for as long as you need to stay hidden. We’ve got some rather good wards on the place, it should allow us to stay safe for the immediate future.”

Regulus sniffed a little and dug himself further into the blankets, watchful eyes and messy hair the only visible parts of him. Sirius leaned back on the sofa, suddenly looking exhausted, adrenalin finally wearing off and reality setting in.

“This is going to be difficult,” he muttered.

“I’m going to order some food now, and then we can all have an early night,” Remus said decisively. “Unless there’s anything we need to consider immediately we should all get some rest?”

When neither of the Black brothers responded, Remus got up and lifted the phone, dialling their favourite Indian restaurant. Once he’d put in his order, Sirius’s arms closed around him from behind.

“You’ll have to message Dumbledore and tell him you can’t do your special mission in Wales,” Sirius whispered quietly into his ear. Remus stood stock still for a few seconds, weighing his options. The excitement of the afternoon had made him forget about the werewolf pack and that he had to let Dumbledore know his decision tonight. To his shame, he could feel relief flooding through him. He had seen no way out of the undercover mission: he was the only werewolf in the Order, a ready-made spy, and he owed Dumbledore for his time at Hogwarts. There had been no way his conscience would have let him decline, even though he had wanted to with every fibre of his being. He wasn’t cunning, he didn’t have extraordinary powers of persuasion, and he wasn’t strong enough, mentally or physically, to live with werewolves. How could he have convinced a pack of half-feral, rejected men and women that they couldn’t join the dark wizard who was promising them freedom and acceptance? They would have torn him to pieces. It also came without saying that he didn’t want to leave his friends or Sirius's comfortable flat behind.

“I’ll owl him tonight. You’re right, I think I can be of more use here than in Wales.” Remus would have to come up with a plausible excuse for Dumbledore. Maybe he should go with part of the truth. Remus was much more of a coward than the sorting hat had once assured him.


	27. Hand in hand is the only way to land, always the right way ‘round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from "The Lovecats" by the Cure.

Lily was teaching James how to make an omelette. James was trying to focus; really, he was. But there was a lot to consider, and not just how much milk to stir in with the eggs, or why you would want to fry the onions before you poured the omelette mixture into the frying pan. He was also long since accustomed to the awkward hard-ons he got whenever Lily gave him instructions or explained things to him. Those had been happening without any input from his conscious brain since 1971; it was second nature by now to rearrange his clothing to make it less noticeable. He did, however, still have trouble concentrating when he caught sight of her hair. This morning it was piled high on her head, messy bun tied up with a white ribbon. The sun got caught in it whenever Lily moved, and apparently there was a lot of movement involved in making an omelette, what with whisking eggs and chopping onions. His fiancé was a distracting woman. 

The real attention grabber had been presented to him yesterday. He had met a smirking Benjy in the Leaky Cauldron last night, and he had taken James aside and handed him the newest issue of a certain magazine. According to the latest story in _Pure Magic_ , James Potter had been given a dangerous muggle love potion by his girlfriend, Lily ‘Mudblood’ Evans, and since this administration he had both moved in with her and proposed marriage to her. Benjy had thought the story hilarious (he had explained to James that muggles did not even have any functioning love potions), and when he took the paper home James and Lily had had a good chuckle about their newfound fame. Said chuckle had come to an abrupt halt when they simultaneously realized this meant that Lily, too, was a target now in the eyes of the Death Eaters. Being a muggleborn she always had been one, but now that they were making an example of her, selling the direct dangers muggleborns posed to purebloods, she would become a prestigious target for direct attack. 

James deftly caught the cat midleap heading for the work surface in the kitchen: his reflexes were really something to be admired. Unfortunately, Lily was busy with a spatula, the cat unimpressed, and there was no applause forthcoming. A drawback when not living with the other Marauders, James had learnt post-graduation. 

Another disconcerting issue with the article in _Pure Magic_ was that the Death Eaters now knew that he and Lily were getting married and living together. How the author had known this was causing a lot of confusion for James, who had only told the Marauders and his parents about the engagement. Lily had told her parents, Mary MacDonald, Dorcas, and Marlene. One of these friends or family members must have told the news onwards, but it was still difficult to imagine how it had ended up in an openly antagonistic pureblood magazine that was hell-bent on inserting itself as far up Lord Voldemort’s arse as he’d let it. James was certain it wasn’t any of the Marauders, they knew as well as anyone how much there was at stake. He felt reasonably confident it hadn’t been Dorcas or Marlene either, which left Mary the most likely culprit. He knew Lily had come to the same conclusion (she had been in a foul mood for a good few minutes last night and refused to tell him why), but the breach of privacy in their private life was still worrying.

The same issue of the paper also featured an article of the incompetence of the Order of the Phoenix, who had lost the body of their fallen member, Dorcas Meadowes. _Pure Magic_ somehow knew that no fewer than 5 Order members, including Alastor Moody and Sirius Black, had been present when the body had been found, but even so they had lost track of the body. Moody was understandably upset at having been outed as an Order member by the loathsome magazine. His colleagues at the auror office had not known about his extracurricular activities before, although privately James thought they had probably guessed it. It was doubtful if they’d let him continue as before: secretly cleaning up messes left by Order members and Death Eaters when it suited him whilst bringing Death Eaters to justice at an unparalleled rate in the auror office. Fact remained that Moody was the best of the best in his chosen profession, and as he was head of his office, he couldn’t be fired without causing a stir. No matter how incompetent the Minister was, Moody was rounding up violent criminals, and that should be enough. But this could all change if there was a lot of negative press and an escalation in casualties. 

Poor Dorcas. James had cried when he heard, and Lily had done a beautiful job at comforting him. Really it should have been the other way around, since Dorcas was one of Lily’s best friends, not James’s, but the war had made James much more emotional than before. He had stared Death in the face a few times now, always with Sirius by his side. Sirius was good at laughing in the general direction of mortal peril, and usually it was infectious. Ever since their first gruelling mission for the Order the two of them had taken to drinking and making crude jokes about the whole thing, although James would sometimes cry as well as laugh. (The recurring jokes were, amongst other things, that Lucius Malfoy spent much of his spare time having orgies with mooncalves, and that Rodolphus Lestrange was gay for just about every man in the Death Eaters and repulsed by his wife, leaving poor Bellatrix to look for affection elsewhere, mostly finding it with Voldemort himself or underaged new recruits. Come to think of it, it wasn’t all that funny, but it had gotten splendid reactions from all concerned when Sirius shouted stuff to that effect when they fought the pesky little Death Eaters.) Dorcas’s funeral was coming up in just a few days’ time, and that was no laughing matter. She had been good, and brave, and seemed like someone who had her shit together. It had been a shock that she was the first proper Order member to go as she wasn’t involved in the physical fights. But she had been a sore thumb in the eyes of the Death Eaters with her honest writings in the paper. The lack of journalistic integrity in the _Prophet_ nowadays was just sad. 

There was another funeral coming up as well, that of Orion Black. Sirius’s father was a man James had zero respect for, having witnessed first-hand the state he had put Sirius in during the Christmas holidays of 1975; the days leading up to his best friend finally coming to his senses and severing the ties to his family for good. He knew his best friend as well as he knew himself, and he knew that Sirius wasn’t bothered about the death, or about having no chance of bagging an invite to his own father’s funeral. James was equally certain that Sirius would think that the funeral was an ideal place to stage their next big-scale prank. There would be quite the audience, after all, and it should royally piss off the whole of Sirius’s estranged family. 

“Are you paying attention, James?” Lily was sitting on the kitchen table, omelette and two steaming cups of tea behind her on the table. She was gently tonguing a spoon that glistened with honey and her legs were spread invitingly. James’s stomach dropped, and he stumbled towards her, all thoughts but one evacuating his brain. 

Once breakfast had been thoroughly enjoyed by all, James settled in the sitting room with his two-way mirror and Freya the cat. He had to, at an increasing volume, holler Sirius’s name five times before he picked his mirror up. 

“Finally, you lazy twat!” James sighed in relief as he was finally faced with the light, arresting eyes and flowy black hair of his best friend. Not killed by Death Eaters overnight, then. 

“I lead a busy life, Prongs, what’s up?”

“We need to plan the greatest prank of 1979 on the Slytherins, mate, that’s what’s up,” explained James. The cat in his lap pawed aggressively at the mirror, her fascination with Sirius’s hair knew no bounds. “I believe there is a certain special someone’s funeral coming up this Sunday?”

Sirius grinned broadly at James. “I see what you mean. Yes, Mother’s long overdue a real showdown of our considerable talents. Should be many a Death Eater in attendance, too.”

“Do you know where the funeral will be?” asked James.

“Highgate, I presume. I can find out,” here Sirius looked over his shoulder as if he was expecting to find someone else in his flat who would be able to tell him.

“Any ideas on what we should entertain them with?” asked James.

“I’ll get back to you tonight, yeah?” Sirius flashed his teeth once more and disappeared from view.

James frowned a little bit at the abrupt end to the conversation, but he assumed that Sirius had a woman nearby and didn’t have time to chat. At least he was keeping busy. Freya curled up to sleep on top of the little mirror, and James left her to it.

He spent the rest of the day researching atmospheric charms to use for the wedding, an endeavour which turned out to be mind-numbingly boring. When the evening finally came knocking, he went to see Peter. Last night James had been told in no uncertain terms by Moody that he (along with Moody himself and Sirius) was the biggest Death Eater target of the season, and that it would be better for him to stop going out so much. Visiting friends’ houses was fine, but bars, pubs and shops should be avoided as much as possible. James knew that his brother in arms had received these same instructions, and would be flagrantly ignoring them, and a sizeable part of James wanted to mirror Sirius. James’s heart charred a little every time he thought about it, but he did have different responsibilities nowadays to those of his best friend. James’s parents were counting on him to live and prosper. And of course, he now had Lily. Lily and Sirius occupied equally large parts in James’s heart, they always had, in a way, but nowadays Lily was expecting him to act with at least a modicum of responsibility. He took stupid risks in every fight he fought for the Order, and Lily approved because it was inevitable and because she would do the same in his situation. But the luxury of going to the pub for a couple of pints was becoming an unnecessary risk to take. It was a strange feeling, not being able to go about as you pleased, and even worse was the thought that he was actively putting other people in danger just by associating with them in public, where potential Death Eaters could see them, or where a certain bothersome journalist might see him, snap a picture and write an article. For Skeeter was still spending infuriating pages on the Order, trying to figure out who was a member and what they were up to. The acknowledgement that they were fighting the good fight had finally seeped through the consciousness of the _Daily Prophet_ , although the Order was still portrayed with badly-concealed ridicule and skepticism. 

Peter still lived in the attic in his Mum’s house. Mrs Pettigrew was a fretful and shy woman, and as usual James only had to make a minimal amount of small talk with her before she excused herself and he could go upstairs in search of his friend. Peter was busy at his desk writing a surprisingly long letter when James burst into his room. 

“I knew it! You’ve got a new woman!” James exclaimed eagerly, tossing a muggle beer to Peter. He’d stolen a six pack from Lily’s side of the fridge before leaving for Peter’s.

“Of course I don’t!” squealed Peter, and dropped to the floor to retrieve the beer. James always forgot that both Peter and Remus had shit reflexes, but it likely wouldn’t have stopped him from throwing things at them even if he’d remembered. 

“Well, I’m here to make you forget about all manners of girl trouble, anyway,” James said confidently and sprawled on Peter’s unmade bed underneath the skylight. 

“It’s great to have you here,” said Peter with a genuine smile, carefully opening the beer on top of his rubbish bin in case of spillage. There was a great deal of frothy spillage, and James noted that some got on Peter’s clothes even after his precautions. James opened a beer for himself as well. 

“What have you been up to then, if you’re not writing to mysterious females?” 

“Just work. Did you hear that Moony lost his job?” Peter asked, putting the beer down in favour of anxiously biting at his left thumbnail. 

“Seriously? Did they find out about him being lycanthropically challenged?” James’s usual good mood took a dent at this news. Lily had hinted to him that she thought they would fire Remus once they figured out there was something unusual about him, but James had never truly believed that. Remus was one of the best people James had ever met and firing him for something as trivial as being a werewolf didn’t make sense to James. But here he was, being proven wrong.

“Time to play a prank on Flourish and Blotts,” he muttered, then turned his attention back to Peter. “That’s really too bad, Moony sure as hell doesn’t deserve that. Come to think of it, that bookshop doesn’t deserve Moony; he is much too good for them.”

Peter nodded in agreement and reached for another beer.

“He’ll find something else,” James continued, confidently. Peter gave him a thoughtful look but nodded dutifully. “I mean, out of the four of us he’s easily the best worker. I’ll have to pop in to his and Sirius’s and cheer him up next. Been ages since all four of us have hung out, what about tomorrow night, Peter?”

“I’m in,” Peter said happily. 

But when James got in touch with Remus and Sirius, they both claimed that they would be busy for the next few days, at least until Dorcas’s funeral. If James hadn’t had so much to do with the wedding planning (they were working on the invitations now), he would have found that very odd indeed.


	28. If you don't love me now you will never love me again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is from Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain".

Marlene couldn’t get over how good they looked together. They were both rather fine specimens with their willowy bodies and their inviting faces, but there was also something to be said for contrasts. She was so fair, all clotted cream and luscious honey. And he was so very dark and shiny, like tempered chocolate, warm and crisp. She always dressed in happy coloured dresses (except when on Order duty), he in refined, well-cut robes and horn-rimmed glasses. A mouth-watering couple if there ever was one. 

He had thrown over Lexie Lovegood, or maybe she had never realized they had been an item in the first place. Marlene was singularly uninterested in the details, she only knew that he was a free agent, once more, as was she, much as usual. If she hadn’t been reminded of Peter Pettigrew’s face on every Order stakeout she would have long since forgotten it by now. She had gotten a couple of one-night-stands in after Peter, just to get rid of any lingering taste, and tonight she had finally been invited to Benjy’s place. Both of them knew exactly where this was heading, and she thought they were equally keen on savouring the build-up. 

Benjy was busy on the floor of his tiny, dark one-room flat. It was a common sight to anyone who knew him, piles of research and newspapers rose all around him and some of it was even pinned to the walls. He did so much for the Order, Marlene thought he must be one of the most productive members. He worked full-time for the Order and was meticulous in his research. He was their expert on Voldemort’s propaganda machine, he knew everything about _Pure Magic_ and about the crooked reporters on the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Wizarding Wireless Network_. He had also taken over the role of compiling the information they had on each confirmed and suspected Death Eater from the reports the other Order members, including Marlene, wrote. On top of this his varied interests meant he was consulted freely by different members of the Order, and he always had tons to say at their meetings. 

“Any new Death Eater activity?” Marlene asked.

“Loads, they’ve never been busier. The shopkeeper in the curiosity shop in Diagon, Concubine’s Delight, was harassed by masked men yesterday. He’s a muggle born. And something similar happened in Hogsmeade, although we’re not sure if it was legitimate Death Eaters or just some nasty 7th year students running amok. Then there’s been the three murders, which I’m sure you’ve read about in the papers already. The squib and the two muggleborns who had all sent opinion pieces to the _Prophet_ basically defending their rights to exist. No warning and no way of identifying the perpetrators.”

“Any new confirmed Death Eaters?” wondered Marlene, trying not to think about the murders. The frightening green skull mark had been suspended over each of the houses, just like they had over Dorcas’s. There was no longer any doubt of what the sign meant. 

“We’re pretty sure about Travers. Still looking for some absolute proof on Antonin Dolohov. And two young ones, Mulciber and Avery, have been spotted hanging out with the Lestranges.”

“I remember those two from Hogwarts, they are not nice men. I’m spending tomorrow night outside of Malfoy Manor, maybe I’ll see someone new that we can put on the list. Can’t wait for the next big Order meeting, I’m starting to feel out of the loop.”

“Then you probably haven’t even met the new member, Dedalus Diggle, yet? Elderly man, tiny and almost as flamboyant a dresser as Dumbledore. He’s not at all like Elphias Doge or Amelia Bones; they’re all very much part of the old guard as I see it. Loyal to Dumbledore first and foremost, and with enough integrity to keep the whole of the Ministry upright if need be. This Diggle is an oddball, he strikes me as very sketchy even though he is an expert and supposedly very capable. He has been hired by the Ministry and by many private contractors in the past to produce high quality and custom-made wards, and he’s supposed to be the foremost expert in the UK and Ireland. I had him over here for tea, just to see if he’d know anything of interest, and when I had my back turned to him he started going through my papers! What do you think of that?”

“How strange!” She loved it when he got passionate and upset about things, there was something very attractive about his normally calm façade and sardonic smile being washed away in the heat of the moment. 

Marlene smiled, making sure to turn her face to the light so that shadows were cast to emphasize her dimples, and arched her back as she stretched. She waved carelessly towards the turntable in the corner, and it whirred into life. The album turned out to be “Rumours” by Fleetwood Mac. She swallowed heavily. It was a beautiful album, just like them, and not bad to dance to, either, but it was a break-up album. Benjy seemed to be thinking the same thing, watching her intently a few seconds too long, hazel eyes perceptive. Then he got up from the floor and bowed before her. Marlene took the hand he extended to her and let herself be dragged to her feet. 

She leaned into him with a content sigh as their light feet trod on the hours of vital Order research that was spread out across the floor. His hands were exactly right; just the right amount of pressure where they rested above her arse. Her own slender, fine boned arms curved weightlessly around his bent neck. And then he was kissing her, purposefully and smoothly, as if they had never stopped at all. Marlene felt she was back on track, even as the foreignness of a turbulent heartbreak came oozing out of the speakers. This might be the last relationship she ever pursued, finding the vividly alive Dorcas cold on the floor had taught her about the volatility of the game she was tossing dice for in her role as an Order member. Out of all the relationships Marlene had tried out during her short life the one with Benjy had been the one that had kept her the most interested, and so it made sense that she was giving it one more go. It was guaranteed to give rise to strong feelings, Benjy really delivered that way, and they did look so good together. Marlene had wondered if it was the morbid nature of her current life that made her so attracted to passion and beauty. Whatever it was, Benjy was really doing it for her, she thought, as he expertly dipped her body backwards as “Go your own way” faded away in the background. He let go of her, and she let herself fall backwards. Her body hit the sofa underneath her, and she watched reverently as he stripped naked above her.

The next evening found Marlene in less enjoyable company. She was still paired up with Peter for all their missions, and this one was no different. They were standing in the shadows of a very sizeable hedge underneath the same invisibility cloak, one of Moody’s. The hedge belonged to the Malfoys, and to Marlene’s great surprise there were actual things happening there for once. Specifically, people were arriving; and these people had a decidedly Death Eatery feel to them. 

Marlene motioned to Peter that they needed to move closer to the carved, metal gates where people were apparating to and entering. They started shuffling forwards awkwardly, but mercifully even Peter was managing to keep silent today. His nose wasn’t even running, apparently his allergies hadn’t reared their ugly head yet. 

“I haven’t seen Black all week, have you heard anything?” one of the Death Eaters said.

“It’s his old man’s funeral on Sunday, I suppose that’s why he’s kept out of public life. Just as well, he was drinking himself away at the Crystal Ball before, the family can’t have approved of that,” another one responded as they passed through the gates. Marlene noticed that one or two of them stretched their left arm out towards the gates before going through, as if they expected the gates to recognize them that way. 

“There’s someone here!” an excited man in a silver mask and black cloak shouted. “My source told me that there would be someone from the Order here tonight, spying!”

Marlene and Peter drew in the same, frightened breath, and then grabbed each other’s hand before disapparating. Not a second too soon, either; Marlene could see several stunning spells bouncing off the hedge. Marlene had taken control of their destination, and they ended up outside of her parents’ house in Shropshire. Peter was wheezing in a disconcerting manner, presumably scared out of his wits. 

“We need to get a report to Moody immediately, I can do it though,” said Marlene as he caught his breath. “How on earth did they know we were there?”

“I don’t know,” said Peter, finally meeting her gaze. He looked terrified. Marlene felt numb. 

“I don’t like this,” Marlene stated futilely. “How could they know?”

“Do you think there’s a traitor in the Order?” asked Peter, eyes now watery and nose runny, despite the lack of allergens. 

“Can’t be,” Marlene said, flabbergasted at the suggestion. There couldn’t be, could there?


	29. It’s something unpredictable but in the end is right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Good Riddance" by Green Day.

Two funerals in one weekend was too much if you asked Sirius. Dorcas’s had been a very sorrowful occasion indeed, not to say awkward since the body was still missing. Most people had been crying, and there had been a strange mix of people there. All the Order had been there, of course, and this had included weirdos like Dumbledore and Moody, men who were so much larger than life that they theoretically filled a church all by themselves. Dumbledore, that avid follower of fashion, had been dressed in ridiculous amethyst-coloured velvet robes trimmed with black lace. Then there had been Dorcas’s family; her divorced parents who both had new families with plenty of small children, some of which were muggle and some of which were magical. Almost their whole year from school had shown up, along with lots of other students and plenty of teachers. Dorcas had been a mighty popular girl, and genuine grief had been apparent in all the guests. 

Orion Black’s funeral had been a different beast altogether. Everyone remotely rich and powerful was there, along with every self-respecting wannabe Death Eater (and plenty of the bona fide variety too). Nobody had been truly sad, except maybe aunt Lucretia. More than anything, Sirius’s father had served as another example of how this war was spinning out of control; his tragic death could not properly be blamed on either side in the conflict, but that hadn’t stopped Sirius’s mother and all the purist movement to hint that it was the Order’s fault, and nobody else’s. 

The prank, however, had livened up the sad event no end, as far as Sirius could tell. He had painstakingly handcrafted a beautiful card for the event, which he had duplicated until he had about a hundred copies, before distributing them onto all the seats in the church a few hours before the funeral. At the front was a nice picture of his parents: Orion looking inscrutable and Walburga formidable. The back contained the lyrics to “Lola” by the Kinks, and as a signature he had drawn a tiny gold-coloured phoenix in the right corner.

Sirius and James had snuck in halfway through the service and hidden by the organ in James’s invisibility cloak. They had confounded the organ player successfully and transfigured his notes. Instead of the usual death march that was played at particularly pretentious wizarding funerals there was a resounding rendition of “Lola”, that well-known ode to transvestites all over the world and a not so subtle dig at Sirius’s parent’s relationship. It had sounded a bit funny on the organ, but Sirius didn’t think it had left anyone unmoved. He was sure he had seen grandfather Pollux confusedly mouthing “she squeezed me tight, she nearly broke my spine” as he read from Sirius’s card. The real cleverness behind this prank was that none of the pureblood supremacists could admit that they were familiar with the song, as it was muggle and therefore beneath them. The organist had therefore been allowed to plough through the entire song as the coffin was carried out of the church, followed by Sirius’s straight-backed and haughty mother and everyone else at a safe distance behind her. Sirius and James had had to clasp their hands over each other’s mouths to make sure no laughter escaped them. 

On their way out, they had lingered to eavesdrop underneath the cloak, as some of the guests had floated back up towards the church after the burial. They had both been hyped up on adrenalin, so very aware of the danger of moving around amongst a large portion of the people who were fighting to kill them, invisibility cloak all that was keeping them out of harm's way, but they had jointly decided that the risk was worth it. A lot of the conversation they overheard was whispered questions about where Regulus was, and James elbowed Sirius at the first mention of this they heard. Sirius had, so far, kept his promise to his brother and not told anyone about Regulus’s near escape and continued existence, but he dutifully gave James a surprised raised eyebrow to signify that this was interesting news to him too. What was more interesting to Sirius, however, was a snippet of a conversation between Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange he overheard. It wasn’t much, really; just that Rodolphus agreed his brother should use the goblin-made emerald engagement ring in the family vault when he proposed. What was more; Rabastan was planning to propose next weekend.

Sirius felt it like a jolt of electricity; his brains devoured the information, leaping on it like thestrals on meat gone off. He was teetering on the edge of giving himself away as it was, but after this revelation he could not get away from the funeral party fast enough. Finally, when James had had his fill of the thrill that came from sneaking around dangerous murderers pretending to grieve, Sirius led the way behind the church where they felt safe enough to apparate to James’s house. 

Sirius was uncomfortably aware that he did not have time to waste at his best friend’s house but should avoid advertising the fact. Lily was in the kitchen waiting for them with the abominable feline on her shoulder. She looked relieved to see them, and Sirius was struck by how he always saw her like that nowadays. He only saw her when he got back from his missions with James, and she always seemed to expect them to turn up in coffins. This had very much not been an official Order mission, as the rest of the Order would have said it was verging on suicide to parachute into a high-ranking funeral where everyone present had penned a personal hit-list where Sirius’s and James’s names figured heavily. Besides, the Order was too serious to appreciate a good prank. Fortunately, James had agreed to keep their plan under wraps (of course he had, he was James for Merlin’s sake), but they had told Lily and Remus that they were going to the burial, just in case. 

James immediately settled into telling Lily exactly what they had done (as it was mostly Sirius’s work, James’s conscience was clearer than usual), and Sirius excused himself to go to the bathroom. His mind was still whirring with the plan now taking shape in his head, and he had long since perfected the art of stealing all manner of liquids (mainly alcohol when he was younger, but a fair number of potions, too) so that didn’t worry him. He supposed he should have felt bad about stealing from Lily, but she would have approved of it if she knew what it was for, of that he was sure. He siphoned a sizeable amount of the murky, sluggish liquid in one of the cauldrons into a handsomely curved glass bottle he conjured, then put it in the canvas bag he had carried the funeral cards in. 

“How is Moony doing? I haven’t even talked to him since he lost his job, we really need to meet up,” said James. His guilty conscience was written all over his face.

“Oh, he’s all right, really,” said Sirius lightly, inventing wildly. “He’s got a new research project from Dumbledore, I think, keeps him busy. He’s really busy right now, but we should all meet up in a few days’ time.”

“Few days?” James sounded surprised and a bit annoyed at this. Sirius just shrugged and hoped James wouldn’t press the issue. Lily was looking at him with perceptive eyes that worried him.

“Prongs, would I be able to take the invisibility cloak for a bit? Remus hinted he would need one for next week, although he’s too shy to ask a favour as usual.”

“Silly bugger. Of course, he can!” James smiled broadly at him, placated now he had been presented with a way of coming to the aid of his all-important friends. “And I’ll write a short report for Moody about what we heard today, Regulus going missing and not showing up at the funeral is bloody curious, right mate?”

“Yes, almost sounded as if the little shit has gotten himself killed,” mused Sirius.

When he got back to his flat it was getting late, and Remus and Regulus were both busy in the kitchen. Sirius knew neither of this unlikely duo knew a thing about cooking, so the resulting food was likely to be a train wreck. 

Sirius stowed away the Polyjuice potion in his bedroom, along with the invisibility cloak. On a whim he also went over to the corner in their sitting room by the sofa. The hair he had cut a few days previously from Giorgia’s head was still there gathering dust, waiting for Sirius to clean it up, along with all the empty liquor bottles. He picked up most of the hair and carried it off to his room as well. Lucky Remus had insisted on making an example of it and refused to clean the flat himself. 

“I might have a lead on how to get one of the horcruxes,” said Sirius as he wandered over to the stove. Remus had a spatula held high and was staring intently at some chopped onions and potatoes in a frying pan. They were sizzling ominously but didn’t look burnt yet. “I’m going to research something tonight,” he continued, hoping this would suffice.

“You’re going to research something?” asked Remus, voice dripping with sarcasm. He seemed to be on edge, and Sirius thought the novelty of cooking could only count for part of it. Spending a whole day with an insufferable purist and deflected Death Eater went some way towards explaining the rest of it.

“We want to take down Voldemort, right?” Sirius said impatiently. “That’s the one thing we can agree on?”

Remus nodded once before attacking the steaming spuds in the frying pan. 

“Where were you today, Sirius? Father’s funeral was today, you know,” said Regulus, voice unbearably knowing. He had regained his health by now, after being mostly bedridden for the days after the cave adventure. The only time he had ventured outside the flat was the day previous, when all three of them had apparated to Primrose Hill. They had transfigured their faces as best they could, and Regulus had been given a full beard and long hippie hair to disguise his face. Kreacher had barely recognized him, but once he had, there had been an inhuman flow of tears. They were now in the possession of the fabled locket, and Kreacher had been sworn to continued secrecy. Nobody could know Regulus was alive.

“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow,” Sirius said, picking his words with care. He wanted desperately to blurt everything out, but there was no way either of his co-conspirators would go along with his madcap plan. Sirius had always been a man of immediate action, and he could see why Remus doubted his ability to do research, as he was mostly right. The “research” he would be doing tonight was probably sexual in nature, potentially dangerous, but it would pale in comparison to the danger that would follow if he succeeded with his plan. Regulus was going to hate him. 

Remus asked a few more agitated questions, which Sirius sidestepped with the finesse of a hippogriff in a china shop. Both Remus and Regulus could tell something was up and were giving him resigned and worried looks by the time dinner was deemed ready. Sirius finally repeated his promise of telling them everything tomorrow, once he had his facts checked. There was very little other conversation over their mediocre dinner. Sirius got the impression that his friend and his brother had argued throughout the day and had now exhausted all topics of conversation. Regulus mercifully fell asleep early on the extra bed they were keeping in Sirius’s room, and Remus retired to his room with some research of his own. He had visited the library and gotten everything there was on the Hogwarts founders. Sirius got dressed in some inconspicuous muggle clothing. Nothing outlandish, but just expensive and stylish enough to suggest he was well-to-do. Then he snuck out, hoping to be back before Remus woke up. There would be a lot of explaining to do.

Sirius waited patiently by the bar at the Grumpy Bowtruckle. He had seen her there many times that winter, although he had only slept with her once as far as he could recall. There were no guarantees she would show up tonight, or any night in the future for that matter, but he had to try now that he had come up with this plan. She usually came with a friend, a non-descript woman Sirius could not remember the face or name of. Presumably they were both in the same boat, there weren’t many reasons you would come to the Grumpy Bowtruckle for. 

The stars were with Sirius that night. Her strawberry-blonde curls were pinned around her head and her face modestly hidden with a brimmed hat. Her robes were fine, but not very new, and the fact that she dared to be seen in this establishment (even with her face half hidden) meant that she counted on her future to be safe no matter what she got up to. A pureblood with little money looking for a good time before it was too late. With her sight on a comfortable marriage to a very rich and moderately powerful man, perhaps. She was right not to worry, as far as Sirius knew; the Lestrange brothers had never gone for prim and proper, how else could you explain Bellatrix? 

Sirius ordered three Firewhiskies before Ruth Yaxley (and the mousy, short friend who had followed her in) had reached the bar. He handed Yaxley hers but didn’t bother to interact with the friend, leaving her to pick up the third glass on her own. Sirius had to make this seem casual. The object of his desire looked surprised, but flattered, that he recognized her and was making advances. This shouldn’t be too difficult. Sirius would just have to make sure they went to her place and not to his, however, as he couldn’t have her know where he lived or who else was staying in his flat nowadays.


	30. But you see, it’s not me, it’s not my family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Zombie" by the Cranberries.

The shock of surviving had yet to sink in. Regulus was constantly on edge, which was probably why it had taken so long for his body to recover from the horrendous poison he had drunk in the cave. The bruises left by the inferi had also taken days to heal. At first it had looked as if he might be stuck with the black marks marring his skin; it had looked sick and rotting and it had made Regulus’s stomach turn every time he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. On the second day Lupin had produced a special salve, a mix of dittany and monkshood extract as far as Regulus could tell, which Lupin told him worked on wounds caused by cursed beasts. It had worked, in the end, even though Lupin had been shifty about it and refused to explain the origins of the salve. 

Regulus did not like Remus Lupin. He seemed weak and frail and didn’t talk much. Regulus could get on with loud, thoughtless and confident people (he had grown up with Sirius, after all) and he could deal with the sneaky and calculating type that was careful with favours and kept track of other people’s weaknesses. Lupin was neither, but Regulus couldn’t quite decide what sort of man he was. Regulus had a vague idea that Lupin’s father was a recluse with no notable ancestry, and a glance at his clothes told Regulus everything he needed to know about Lupin’s wealth, in this case the lack thereof. Lupin wasn’t a quidditch player, and he had not been in the duelling club at Hogwarts, limiting the potential of mutual interests. He seemed to be a quiet bookworm with no notable anything. A difficult man to make small talk wth, and a difficult man to get to know, had Regulus been so inclined. He had clearly visited the library the day after the cave, and now there were stacks of books everywhere in the flat on magical enchantments, unstoppable poisons, immortality, and the Hogwarts founders. At least he was taking their horcrux hunt seriously.

Sirius was equally difficult to deal with. They had not been in touch for years, and there was a lot of bad blood there that neither wished to deal with. Regulus’s brother had always been hot-headed and impatient, which made him a less than ideal planner. And they did need to plan, Regulus knew that much. He had told them he could maybe get into Malfoy Manor if he had a good invisibility cloak. Sirius had interrupted him there without further ado and told him he’d procure one. Regulus had no idea if the horcrux would be at Malfoy Manor or not, and as they didn’t know what the horcrux was it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. The golden cup in the Lestrange’s vault would be nigh on impossible to get to as well. 

Regulus woke up to raised voices coming from the pathetic excuse of a sitting room. He had already awoken twice that night, once when his brother snuck around in the room getting dressed in wildly inappropriate clothes for a night of research, and a second time when someone made a noisy cup of tea in the kitchen area. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that nobody in the flat was doing much sleeping.

Regulus got dressed and ventured out of his brother’s bedroom. Remus was in his tattered dressing gown, and Sirius was still in the muggle clothes he had donned a few hours before.

“What’s going on?” asked Regulus as both his brother and Lupin fell quiet upon his enterance. 

“You can cast the imperius curse, right?” asked Sirius. He was looking tired, determined and dishevelled, and he had a woman’s hairbrush in his hand. Regulus stared intently at him, dread and betrayal washing over him in waves. It had probably come up in the aftermath of the cave, Regulus had been distraught about the things he had done and had used Sirius as a confessional in his weakened state. He had thought he would die, after all, and the guilt and relief of being saved had brought out a never before seen insecurity in Regulus, be it a short-lived one. 

“You’re an arsehole,” Regulus said quietly, once the silence became too much for him. 

“Whatever insane plan you’ve thought up, Sirius, you had better drop it now,” said Lupin, unexpectedly coming to Regulus’s rescue. Lupin face had paled, and his jaw was set in a way that suggested proper anger. “Where have you been tonight, anyway? I’ve been worried sick, and here you are, back safe and sound at four in the morning, smelling like a whorehouse. Thought we had all changed our priorities in the light of learning the tools to Voldemort’s destruction?”

Sirius had the decency to blush, but he also looked affronted. “I do have a plan, thanks for asking. I knew you wouldn’t approve, so I went ahead and tested the waters for us. I’ve got the means to get one of us into the Lestrange’s vault, but it must be someone who can master the imperius curse. I’m prepared to learn how to cast it for the sake of this, but I’m betting one of us three already has a pretty good grasp on it.”

Regulus stared miserably at the kettle in the corner. He would much prefer Firewhisky for this conversation, but he would take a cuppa if there wasn’t any alcohol on offer.

“We’re not stooping to unforgiveable curses, Sirius,” said Remus in a low voice that carried all the better for it. “That would put us on the same level as the people we’re fighting.”

“There’s some Firewhisky in the left-hand cupboard,” said Sirius, ignoring his friend and interpreting Regulus’s demeanour with ease. 

When Regulus came back with the bottle the other two had seated themselves on the sofa. Regulus took the armchair.

“Accio Polyjuice,” said Sirius with a vague flicker of his wand, and a bottle came zooming out of his bedroom. Sirius set the bottle and the hairbrush down on the table, and then reached for the Firewhisky. After they had all had a generous swig, and the bottle was back in Regulus’s hands, Sirius started explaining.

“I went to the funeral yesterday with James, and we overheard Rabastan and Rodolphus. Rabastan is going to propose to his girlfriend next weekend, and he is going to use an old family heirloom that is stored in their family vault. That means he’ll need to stop by Gringotts this week.”

Regulus stared unhappily at the whisky bottle. His brother had been to the funeral, the funeral he hadn’t been able to attend. His father had been dead for over a week already, and his mother must think that her son had died, too. He drowned his guilt in the burn of the Firewhisky.

“You want me to wear an invisibility cloak and imperius Rabastan so he’ll take me to the vault?” he asked dully. “Because I’ll tell you right now, that is a see-through plan that will expose what we’re up to within a day, even if I got the cup out of there.”

“That’s not the plan, no,” said Sirius impatiently, and gestured exasperatedly at the objects in front of him. Lupin had put his head in his hands, Regulus had a feeling that he had done a better job of grasping the plan, but that he wasn’t impressed with it. 

“Whose hair is it?” asked Regulus. If the potion was Polyjuice, it struck him that he must be expected to morph into somebody else for the event.

“Ruth Yaxley’s, obviously,” said Sirius and rolled his eyes for emphasis.

“Rabastan’s girlfriend?” Regulus clarified, clutching the bottle for comfort.

“It won’t look out of place if he takes his wife-to-be to look at her engagement ring. You’ll look like her and have him under the imperius curse for the time it takes to retrieve the cup. We’ll have to modify his memory afterwards, but not even by that much, I reckon. And it doesn’t matter if anyone sees you as her, and him, together. And I know where she lives now, so I’m confident I can keep the real Ruth occupied when you step into her shoes.”

“You expect me to change into a woman?” Regulus heard his own voice come out much too high, but he was righteously horrified. His brother, the git, just laughed quietly in response.

“Is that really the biggest problem you have with this plan?” asked Lupin mildly. Regulus frowned and gazed into his bottle. “I take it you actually have some experience with the imperius curse, then?”

How to explain to two innocent Order members that Regulus had used the imperius curse countless times, that Lucius Malfoy himself had complimented him on how good he was at it? For example, there was that muggle family his cousin had tortured, but not before Regulus had turned his wand on them and made them say the most degrading things about themselves, about their own filthy blood. He had once used the imperius curse on his mother, too. He had seen no other way out at the time but it still weighed heavily on his conscience. When he finally looked up from his nightmares of old, both Lupin and his brother were watching him. 

“I’ve only met Ruth once, I don’t think I can impersonate her,” he said, trying to keep his composure. “And she’s a woman, I can’t act like a woman.”

“Just act like a human being, surely you have some experience in that,” scoffed Sirius. “Rabastan isn’t clever, and if you’re quick about it you can put the imperius on him before he gets the chance to have much of a conversation with you. I know what clothes she wears and how she does her hair, so you’ll look the part.”

“How come you know her so well?” asked Regulus petulantly, but unfortunately he was coming around to the plan. They did need that horcrux.

“I’ve undressed her and messed her hair up twice now,” said Sirius impatiently, as if sleeping with other people’s girlfriends was something you just did. Regulus, for one, was unimpressed with his brother’s lack of morals.

“Where did you get the Polyjuice from?” asked Lupin.

“Nicked it from Lily. She had a huge cauldron of it lying around unsupervised. I doubt she’ll notice that some of it's gone missing.”

“How do we even know the potion has matured and is edible if you just siphoned it from a random cauldron at Potter’s house?” asked Regulus. He was getting annoyed now, he’d had enough of bad potions. And if the mudblood had brewed it, it was likely to be badly made, wasn’t it?

“We can test it out beforehand, let you get a chance to get used to the mysteries of being a woman. And it will be perfect, Lily was the best at potions in our year.”

“Second best,” Lupin corrected quietly. “Snape was in our year, remember?”

Sirius ignored him and looked expectantly at Regulus instead. Regulus drank some more and thought about it. He didn’t like any of it but the plan wasn’t as flawed as it had first appeared. It might still go tits up, Regulus hesitated to ask what Sirius’s rate of success usually was when it came to insane plans, but he did like that he was the main player in this plan. He still wasn’t certain he deserved to live at the end of the day, no matter how conflicted he felt about people who weren’t as pure of blood as he was. There were moments when he found himself doubting it all; what if his family was wrong and Sirius was right? Fact remained that Regulus had killed people who were weaker than him, and he had supported a megalomaniac who was abnormally crazed and increasingly unlikely to make the world a better place. The methods the Dark Lord approved of were unacceptable, he just wished he had realized that earlier, before he became complicit. Regulus was guilty of so much more damage than his brother and his friend were, perhaps more damage than some mudbloods even.

“If the Polyjuice works I’ll do it,” he decided out loud. Sirius just grinned and grabbed the Firewhisky from him. Lupin let out a very long sigh, it sounded as if he had been holding his breath for the duration of Regulus’s inner debate. 

“I’m going to catch some sleep now,” said Sirius happily, put away the Firewhisky and grabbed the Polyjuice and the hairbrush. Regulus followed him into their bedroom, unwilling to look at Lupin’s disappointed face and eager to get some much-needed sleep. 

Regulus woke up thinking he could hear a muffled voice shouting his brother’s name, but when he got up and grabbed his wand there was nobody there. He woke up Sirius anyway, as the sun stood high in the sky.

He had barely managed to get an already grumpy Sirius to open his eyes when there was a loud voice echoing through the flat. Lupin couldn’t have made that loud a noise if he tried, of that Regulus was certain.

“Padfoot, you lazy git, where are you? Not up to your elbows in a new lady, are you?”

Sirius swore quietly. Even Regulus recognized the voice now, it was James Potter, and by the sounds of it he had just come through the fireplace in the sitting room.


	31. Looking for girls who are boys who like boys to be girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from "Girls & Boys" by Blur.

Remus had just made himself the second cup of tea for the day when the fireplace burst into flames and James Potter stumbled into the sitting room. Remus almost dropped his cup, an antique with a dainty ear and gold rim Sirius had picked up in a second-hand shop. 

James was moving quickly towards Sirius’s bedroom whilst shouting some vague greeting, and Remus rushed after him as fast as he could. To his great relief Sirius or Regulus had apparently charmed the door shut before James got to it, and he was unable to get in.

“Does Padfoot have a girl in there?” asked James, giving up trying to turn the door handle and turning to face Remus. 

“I’m not sure,” said Remus evasively, wondering what the best way of getting rid of James would be. “Should we go to the pub for a spot of lunch, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you?”

“No, I’ve already eaten, and besides I know what you’re like about spending money on eating out." Here, James pulled an unflattering face at him. "I’ll take a cup of tea or a beer though while we wait for Sirius to emerge from his lair.”

Remus nodded and led the way to the fridge. He supposed Sirius would just have to sneak out of his room when James’s back was turned, and Regulus would have to hide and stay quiet for the duration of James’s stay. They would manage. Remus handed him a beer, but he didn’t feel like drinking himself. Someone had to keep their wits about in case James did something unpredictable and inadvertently exposed their secret (an all-too likely scenario).

“Looking for another job, then, Moony? I for one will be boycotting Flourish and Blotts for all eternity, they had no right to fire you. It’s not like you would ever have been in their precious bookshop during a full moon, I can’t see what their problem is.”

Remus made a shushing noise as soon as James’s loud voice threw the word “full moon” around the flat. Remus had not told Regulus about his predicament, indeed had not been planning on telling him anytime soon. As the meaning behind Remus’s shushing hit James, he clasped a hand apologetically over his mouth and pointed awkwardly at Sirius’s closed door. Remus cursed under his breath. Why had they not planned for what to do when James or Peter came bursting through the floo, as they had been bound to do sooner or later? 

“I think he might have a girl in there,” said Remus untruthfully. “I’m alright, it was inevitable that it would end this way. That’s the hazard of being me. How is the wedding coming along?”

James shot him a sharp look, apparently his change of subject had not passed unnoticed.

“It’s keeping us busy, as you’ve probably figured out by now. We’re deciding on the guest list this week,” he said. “I’m not done with you, though. How are you, really?”

How to answer that, thought Remus unhappily. He was sad and on edge and he was stressed out. He was almost glad he had lost his job, even though it did make him a failure in his endeavours to be an adult. But there really weren’t enough hours in the day to both plan for the destruction of Voldemort and to gift-wrap massive tomes in a Diagon Alley bookshop. 

Sirius and Regulus had agreed to follow through on an insane plan to break into Gringotts, with neither paying any attention to his opinions. Sirius, his friend of almost eight years, had been unfazed by the idea of using an unforgiveable curse.

There was the paranoia and trust issues borne of living with a Death Eater, which Remus couldn’t mention to James. He had thought that he, unlike Sirius, would be alright with keeping this secret from the other two Marauders, but it made him feel surprisingly shit now he was in the same room with James and James’s kind hazel eyes were scrutinizing him, trying to coax his feelings out of him. There were trust issues in the Order, too, as Peter and Marlene had somehow been betrayed on their latest reconnaissance mission and James’s and Lily’s private lives had appeared in unnerving detail in _Pure Magic_. Remus had been forced to tell Dumbledore that he couldn’t go live with the werewolves he had been assigned to, and the shame of it would be preying on his mind every time he met with the Order. Dumbledore had been nice about it, but there had been disappointment between the lines in the letter he had sent to Remus right after the cave incident. Remus was scared he would break down the next time he saw Dumbledore, the man had meant so much to him growing up, and now he had disappointed him. 

“I know you were close to Dorcas, she told Lily that she really respected you and had a soft spot for you.” James’s voice was unprecedentedly sweet and there was maybe too much understanding in his eyes when he looked at Remus. Damn Lily and her perceptiveness.

Remus pressed his eyes closed and felt himself sway unsteadily. He had cried for the first time in his so-called adult life at Dorcas’s funeral. He had kept it together at the memorial service afterwards, not wishing to unleash the wealth of feeling that was swirling around inside of him. He had felt sadder about her death than he had felt even for his own mother's, she had passed a short two years ago. He had been haunted by all the memories he had of Dorcas for the last few days, having horcrux research to deal with had felt like a blessed break. Although he would never admit it to anyone, as he had performed CPR on Regulus her face had been flashing in the forefront of his mind, for a second his mourning brain had told him that she had been given a second chance, that if he got this body to breathe again he would get Dorcas back. He hadn’t, obviously, but the ensuing perseverance had probably saved Regulus’s life. That boy had been dead for a full minute, at least, but Remus had continued to pound away at his chest, trying to exorcise the water from him and blow air into lungs that had already given up.

Remus felt James’s warm hands on him, leading him to the sofa to sit down. He drew a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. Still dry, and that made him feel proud. Proud that he wasn’t breaking down completely. How messed up was that? He was in the safety of his own flat, with his best friend beside him, both mourning a dead friend and colleague, and he felt pride because he hadn’t been reduced to a blubbering, wet mess? Of all the things war did to you this was one of Remus’s least favourite ones. Having to suppress your emotions endlessly, because once you let them out, who knew what they would leave in their wake? A nervous wreck most likely. Better not go there, ever.

“I’ll be alright,” he said and gave James a small smile in thanks, voice steady and eyes open. “We’re at war, these things are to be expected.”

“Very bleak”, said James, but he smiled a little in return. “You better not be next, though. Padfoot told me the two of you are going to practice duelling. It’s a great idea, I think myself and Lily should do the same. Maybe Peter, too”, he added as an afterthought. 

At that moment, there was an angry-sounding voice coming from Sirius’s room. Remus froze, fear washing over him. Instinctively he reached for the wand in his pocket. 

Sirius’s bedroom door opened forcefully and a young woman entered the sitting room. Her hair was long and dark, and her eyes flashed angrily as she took in Remus and James on the sofa. Without further ado, she stalked off towards the bathroom, towel in hand. She was wearing an oversized knitted jumper of Sirius’s, and her legs were bare. She also walked as if she wasn’t quite steady on her legs, or more likely, as Remus realized, she wasn’t quite used to moving in this body. Sirius came out after her, carefully blocking the view into his bedroom with its extra bed, still in his pyjama bottoms and sporting a massive, mischievous grin. 

“Giorgia is in a bit of a strop, she thought we would be alone in the flat,” he explained innocently.

“That the Italian girl, mate?” asked James, grin rivalling the one on Sirius’s face. 

“Yeah. Remember she’s a muggle though, so no funny talk.”

“I’ll be careful. You forgot to take the cloak last night, so I brought it over. You needed to borrow it, right Moony?”

“Oh yes, I’m much obliged,” Remus replied, trying to look as if he knew what they were talking about. He dutifully took the cloak James handed him, and for show put it away in his bedroom. Couldn’t have a muggle spotting the invisibility cloak. 

Once it became clear that Giorgia wasn’t coming back out of the bathroom with all three of them there, James reluctantly decided to leave. Remus promised him that they would catch up more soon, and James suggested Sunday roast at Godric’s Hollow. He left through the door, for show in case the muggle noticed, and Regulus could finally come back out, still in his brother’s jumper. The effects of the Polyjuice hadn’t worn off, and he remained the spitting image of Sirius’s muggle fling. He also looked horrified at his predicament, being a woman was clearly living up to his worst expectations. 

“This is all sorts of morally wrong, Padfoot. But at least we know that the Polyjuice works,” Remus said mildly, as Sirius bent double with his own laughter.

“I’m wearing the body of a muggle?” Regulus said, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach Remus realized that being a woman was not the main issue for Regulus anymore. “I didn’t think Polyjuice would work between wizards and muggles!”

Sirius's laughter turned into a growl at this statement. 

“Muggles are just as much human as wizards and witches are,” said Remus, taking in the angry bewilderment now present in Regulus’s face. “Polyjuice is for human transfiguration, and there’s nothing inherently different between us except for the presence of magic.” 

Regulus stared at him doubtfully, but appeared to be lost for words.

“You were brought back to life with muggle methods, you know,” Sirius said, suddenly and with a nasty glint in his eye. “You were dead when I got you out of the water in that cave, the spells I tried wouldn’t bring you back. But Remus here knew a muggle method for making people breathe again, and it worked on you.”

There was a long silence at this as Regulus took it in. Remus eyed him curiously. He wasn’t looking at Remus or at his brother anymore; he had spread out his hands in front of him, wondering at the short, womanly fingers. The hands were shaking violently. They then dropped back to his side, and in a flash Regulus shoved Sirius out of the way as he ran back into the bedroom. Remus met Sirius’s eyes, livid and contemptuous as the door slammed behind his brother. Sirius needed to be calmed down, right now, before he went after his brother and said something stupid. As annoyed as Remus was with Regulus’s prejudices, it was becoming clear that nobody had taught him any better.

“He’s a child, better leave him be. He’ll figure out that he’s wrong given time, just like he figured out how wrong he was to follow Voldemort.” 

Sirius still looked furious, and Remus hoped he was correct in his assumptions. They were interrupted by a hawk patronus, which they both recognized as Moody’s, telling them to apparate to Hogsmeade immediately, as there was a major fight there right now. 

After that the day became a blur as Remus’s brain kicked into survival mode. He got his shoes and coat and was soon joined by Sirius who had thrown on the first clothes he could find. Barely stopping to check that they both had their wands, Sirius shouted something to Regulus before they ran out of the building until they could apparate. 

Remus duelled with more skill than he knew he possessed, his brain oddly clear as he only focused on what was right in front of him. The shouts and the blood and the explosions around him didn’t matter, just his opponents and any errant spells that darted his way. 

He vaguely remembered seeing one of the Prewett twins lifting Edgar Bones from the ground and disapparating with him. Bones’s face was covered in blood and his hand was clasping his broken wand. He saw Moody fighting three masked Death Eaters at the same time; he was prodigiously talented, moving smoothly, jumping over any obstacle and slashing with his wand in lethal-looking motions. Then there was Hagrid, larger than life and with stunning spells bouncing off his body like pathetic laser beams.

Remus worked his way from the fringes of the fight, successfully stunning both Death Eaters he fought, in towards the epicentre which was in the street outside of Scrivenshaft’s. There he found Sirius and James, who were unsurprisingly combining their efforts against three Death Eaters. Sirius was bleeding from his shoulder but it didn’t look too bad. 

And so, they fought. James and Sirius were both brilliant, but the more masked men who crumbled under their inventive spells, the more new opponents were drawn towards them, the eagerness to bring the duo down was almost palpable in the air. 

“Hey Rodolphus, have you had the honour of sucking off Voldemort already?” Sirius shouted suddenly, somewhere to Remus’s left. “I’m told he has a tiny dick, but that’s what you’re into, right? Word on the street is Bella’s is bigger than you can safely fit in you.” Remus could hear James laughing and a Death Eater swearing. Then there were loud pops of apparition, and suddenly the place seemed to be swarming with aurors and MLE officials. Remus twisted immediately into thin air, lungs horribly constricted until his feet safely hit the pavement in the alley outside of his and Sirius’s flat. Sirius appeared not a second later, t-shirt bloodied but still grinning at his own joke. Remus wasted no time and hugged him tightly, keeping clear of his shoulder, savouring the feeling of their combined rapid heartbeats, basking in the relief that they were both alive.


	32. You’re looking rough and living strange, and I know you’ve got a taste for it too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from "Don't Look Back into the Sun" by the Libertines.

There was an impromptu Order meeting a short hour after the fight. Edgar Bones was in St Mungo’s and would live. Marlene was still being tended to in a secluded room in the Bones’s house, Elfrida had shown up once she had been told her husband would survive and she had tended to all the other wounded in her home. Most of them had only had minor injuries, but a few of the Death Eaters had been very eager to spill blood with nasty curses. Fabian had almost lost part of his arm, but Elfrida had managed to re-attach it. And Moody was sporting a bandaged head; apparently he had been hit with multiple slicing curses to the face. 

Lily and James had been almost the first at the scene of the fight, although to be fair all Order members had been quick to get there. Lily had, with great difficulty, dodged both the killing curse and a vicious-looking slicing curse. She had been called ‘mudblood’ by two of the Death Eaters she had fought, leaving no doubt that they knew who she was now. But she had been alright, and she had held her own in the fight. James, Remus and Sirius had been fine, too.

Peter hadn’t joined in the fight, but had awkwardly told them that he had been busy with his mother, who had suffered a panic attack when she found out her son was being called to fight. Lily knew James didn’t feel any resentment towards him, but she thought she could see a certain amount of derision in Sirius’s face. They all knew Peter was a bad duellist and he would need a lot of training to get up to an acceptable standard. He wasn’t to be blamed for not showing up: the Order had been outnumbered and plenty of them had been injured, Peter would have risked his life perhaps more than anyone else had he joined in. He was also one of their only unknown members, especially now that both the Bones’s, Marlene, Benjy and Remus had participated openly in a fight.

Lily gratefully accepted a mug of coffee. Gideon and Benjy had taken it upon themselves to find refreshments for the Order while their hostess was busy healing Marlene’s injuries, and their host lay unconscious in St Mungo’s. Moody, on the other hand, angrily brushed Gideon away when he tried to offer him a mug and clapped his hands roughly to get everyone’s attention.

“Firstly, I’d like to thank you for your good work today, almost everyone showed up, and quickly. But now, to business. This was a surprising attack in many ways. Aberforth Dumbledore alerted me to what was happening, he is a man of few words, but it appears the Death Eaters were targeting a group of witches and wizards from the Muggleborn Association of Yorkshire, who were on an organized daytrip to Hogsmeade. There were seven casualties amongst them. They were attacked in the middle of the street in broad daylight. The MLE are speaking to everyone who was present, but there doesn’t seem to be much more to say. Most of them managed to disapparate once the bodies started dropping. They speak of around 30 masked people in black cloaks, most are men as we know, but at least one of them was a woman. One of the victims was dragged away from the group and tortured before she managed to find a wand on the ground from one of her fallen comrades and disapparated. She was certain that the person torturing her was female.”

Here Moody paused as some of the Order whispered amongst themselves.

“I want to hear if anyone can make any positive identifications? There were precious few left on the scene to arrest, the Death Eaters are making an effort of taking the ones we’ve stunned with them in side-along apparition.”

“I duelled Mulciber,” said Lily immediately. She had recognized his voice as her old nemesis from Hogwarts slurred obscenities at her. She had hit him with a well-placed stinging hex and was hoping a certain body-part of his would be out of action for the near future, at least.

Benjy Fenwick, who looked much too put-together for someone who had just fought in a life and death situation, started taking notes as they pooled their information together.

“Rodolphus Lestrange was there, I fought him, and I’m pretty sure I saw his brother too”, volunteered Sirius. “Obviously Bellatrix was the one using the cruciatus curse.”

“Did you see her do it?” snarled Moody. “I only want the names you can confirm.”

Sirius tapped his foot impatiently and looked like he was biting back a nasty-flavoured retort.

“Did you spot your brother, Black?” asked Benjy, his voice a careful neutral that immediately made Sirius raise his hackles.

“No, he wasn’t there.”

“There’s a rumour flying around that he might have deserted and gotten himself killed,” said Dedalus Diggle. He was a tiny man in a purple top hat, one of the newest members in the order and as yet an unknown force.

Lily looked at Sirius’s hands, and she could see that he was clenching and unclenching them into fists. 

“We’ll keep an eye out for him,” growled Moody. “Elfrida told me there were a few Death Eaters speaking Russian, or perhaps some other Slavic language. This points to Dolohov, he’s half English and half Belarusian and went to Durmstrang. Benjy has a picture of him that I want you all to have a look at. He’s likely to have brought friends from his old school. If anyone knows anybody who went to Durmstrang and who could be trusted to work for the Order, I need you to give me their details.”

There was a pause as Benjy handed out a photograph to Hestia Jones, who was sitting closest to him.

“They know who too many of us are now,” grumbled Moody through the bandages. Lily wondered how badly hurt his face was. “The papers carry most of that guilt, but there have been oversights on our part too. We simply haven’t been careful enough. That ends now. I’ve already spoken to some of you; Potter and Black have been targets for a long time, and you need to be more careful. But this goes for the rest of you as well, it’s best if you all pretend that your covers have been blown. Easiest if you all assume that they are now personally out to get you. First order of business will be to remove your fireplaces from the floo network and make your homes apparition-proof. Mr Diggle or Lupin can help you all with that. I expect everyone to sort it out by this weekend.”

There was an upset murmur in the room as this was a major change to how things had been. 

“Finally, we have the lingering issue of how information about our goings-on and our members keeps getting leaked to _Pure Magic_ , and by extention to the Death Eaters. Some of you argued last time that nothing too major has been leaked as of yet, but personally I think it’s too much. You need to be more vigilant with who you talk to, and as a new rule we will try to keep all pre-planned missions secret from everyone but myself and Alice Longbottom. The two of us will continue to decide on specific missions, and they will only become public within the confines of the Order after they have taken place. This should minimize any information falling into the wrong hands. Unless we actually have a real traitor within our ranks…” Here, Moody’s eyes darted around the room menacingly. It was not remotely amusing, thought Lily, Moody’s battered and bandaged face and his alert, intense eyes. She didn’t want to believe that anyone here had betrayed secrets directly to the other side, it had to have happened by mistake somehow. But she could see some of the Order members looking worriedly around, Gideon and Peter both looked so suspicious, and Emmeline Vance was scowling in a distinctly un-ladylike fashion. 

“There is no traitor amongst us and we’ll only hurt ourselves if we distrust each other. We can all do with being more careful in who we speak to, though.” James had stood up to speak, his voice calm and collected. Lily smiled, and felt pride compete with hot attraction in her heart. That was her brave, brilliant man. 

“Well said!” squeaked Elphias Doge from the corner. He had joined the fighting despite his old age and done well. Lily had seen him use the jelly-leg jinx to great effect. Both Sirius and Remus nodded in agreement, and although Moody snorted and growled some more the mood was raised a lot thanks to James.

As soon as the meeting was over Lily rewarded her fiancé with a searing kiss. He beamed happily at her before he went over to talk to his marauders. Lily went in search of Marlene and found her in one of the upstairs bedrooms. The room contained an inordinate number of quidditch posters, mostly of the Appleby Arrows, and there was a terrarium with a beautiful turtle whose shell shone coppery and was inlaid with sapphires. The Bones’s had several teenaged children, all currently at Hogwarts.

“How are you feeling?” 

“I’ll be alright thanks to Mrs Bones. It was a curse that turned my insides to mush, but she fixed me. Luckily she’s a skilled healer and got to me in time, she told me if I’d been taken to St Mungo’s they would probably have arrested me for participating in the Hogsmeade fight after healing me. This way, the authorities won’t know I was involved.”

“Will they arrest Edgar once he gets his health back?” Lily wondered. Marlene shrugged. Lily mulled it over but decided that Edgar Bones was too senior a member of wizarding society to be arrested for vigilantism. He was a well-respected healer anyway, and with the spike in injured people the Death Eaters were leaving in their wake every healer was needed.

“Do you ever regret joining the Order?” Marlene asked. Lily met her eyes and dutifully thought about it. Everyone in the Order was potentially sacrificing themselves for the cause, and Lily had been sensing for some time now that there were members who doubted if they would win in the end. And it was obvious that they all wondered how many of them would come out alive on the other side. The Death Eaters outnumbered them many times over, that much was clear after a fight like the one today. The Ministry were useless for anything but the clean-up at the end of the fight. Skill and ingenuity would only get the Order so far, they did not have the numbers and luck was a fickle mistress. Dorcas had been murdered. Marlene was pale and sick-looking, and there was smoke coming out of her ears and nose from the healing potions she had ingested. But even as Lily tried to reconsider her decision, she got stuck at the heart of the matter. There was only one answer she could give. She was a muggle born, she was fighting for what she believed in with her friends by her side.

“No, can’t say I do.”

Marlene nodded, and she looked both sad and relieved at the same time. She was still just as beautiful as before, Lily thought, it was just the carelessness and the unbridled joy of living that was lacking. There was something very tragic about seeing Marlene struck down like this, she was not supposed to be confined to a sickbed, even if it was temporary. Lily hoped Marlene’s courage would hold.

“How are you doing with Peter?” asked Lily.

“Well, I know he’s one of your best friends nowadays, but he isn’t very good at Order work,” Marlene replied tiredly. “I’ve asked Moody to be paired up with the other boys instead, but apparently I’m not good enough a fighter. I’d ask if I could work with Benjy, but I don’t think I’m good enough at that type of research either. So, I guess I’m stuck sneaking around in Death Eaters' back gardens with Peter.”

“We’re all going to have to become better fighters,” said Lily, unsure of what else to say. Marlene had been a close friend of hers for much longer than Peter, but she had grown very fond of him during the last year. Marlene was probably right about him not quite being up to scratch, though. 

At that point Benjy came in, and Lily realized that those two were having it on again. Benjy kissing Marlene full on the mouth sort of gave it away, and Lily took the hint and backed out of the room to give them some space.


	33. The best you’ve ever had is just a memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from "Fluorescent Adolescent" by the Arctic Monkeys.

Peter desperately wanted to know who the traitor was. Someone was being careless and passing on information they shouldn’t be, and they did not deserve to be in the Order. It should be as simple as that. But James thought it wasn’t being done on purpose, and usually James knew best. But whoever it was should be punished for it. It wasn’t fair that missions were being compromised, that other people’s lives were being put on the line just because somebody couldn’t keep their mouth shut. Peter had his suspicions. Fabian was such a jolly and carefree character, almost one-dimensionally so, it likely meant he was careless as well. It could be him. Marlene talked and talked to everyone who would listen, and Peter could easily see it being her; he knew her rather well now after all. Dedalus Diggle was strange and shifty, there were rumours about him spying on other Order members, looking into things he shouldn’t be. It absolutely could be him. And Sirius was a bit of a whore and a bit of a drunk. Who knew what he told girls to get them to sleep with him. Peter shuddered to think that it might be him.

He thought wistfully of his Hogwarts days, the days when the Marauders had been one. He missed seeing James every day, and he missed the kinship he had felt with Remus. It was different now Remus lived together with Sirius. Before, it had always been James and Sirius, inseparable, invincible ringleaders, and Remus and Peter, back-up singers and reluctant conscience of the four headed beast that was the Marauders. Now they had all splintered into new entities, and Peter had somehow not ended up paired together with anybody. It was James and Lily, now, when it wasn’t James and Sirius. And Sirius and Remus.

Remus had been the one Peter could aspire to be like. It was impossible to be anything like James, even though he would like to very much. It was a bit like a kinky fantasy that you had to bury deep within you, it could never happen and that was probably for the best. James was simply brilliant. He had been top in most of his classes at Hogwarts without ever having to apply himself, he had been the school’s greatest quidditch player from their generation, and he had been known to everyone for his quick wit and funny pranks. Peter had loved being a part of it all, he had had first-row seats to everything James did in school, and sometimes it felt as if part of Peter had gotten left behind in Hogwarts, still shouting ‘encore!’ and leading the crowd in a never-ending standing ovation. 

Remus and his role in the Marauders had always seemed just within Peters grasp. If only he applied himself he could be about as cool and as well-liked as Remus. Remus had shown Peter that you did not have to be excruciatingly funny or excessively clever to be popular and respected, Remus had modest brains and limited comedic timing. He was also visibly crippled socially, more so than Peter himself. Remus was scared stiff that someone he liked or respected would figure out that he was a werewolf, his time in Hogwarts with Peter and the others had unfortunately not convinced him that people might like him regardless of his lycanthropy. Lily, bright witch as she was, had figured it out when she and Remus were prefects together, but other than her and the old professors at Hogwarts, Peter didn’t think Remus had ever told anyone. His next closest friend had probably been Dorcas, Peter had noticed that the two of them had talked a lot outside of the Order as well as during meetings. But Dorcas was no longer, and it didn’t matter anymore if she had been privy to his furry little problem. Fact remained, Remus had always made Peter feel better about himself, as if he was enough just as he was. They completed the Marauders, they were needed to soften the edges and bring some normalcy and common sense to the otherworldly brilliance, talent and popularity that was James and Sirius. But now Remus had gone and moved in with Sirius.

Sirius was difficult from Peter’s perspective. He was just as unattainably cool as James was, but he lacked the easy-going side James had always had, and the compassionate side James had started developing around the same time as Lily finally deigned to return his interest in her. Sirius was a bad case of arrested development, that’s what everyone said. There was a time when he had been forced to grow up early for the simple sake of self-preservation, back when he was living with his parents, but after he had gotten away that development had stopped, as far as Peter could tell, and post-graduation Sirius was not mature enough for normal relationships or for working adult jobs (something Peter was proud enough to say he had managed just fine). Sirius had been under fire during Order meetings for not following orders, or rather for being too impatient to wait around for the orders to arrive from above before acting. He was a loose cannon from a bad background, and Peter was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the cracks in his foundation.

Apparently, Remus could. Peter had heard him complain a little to James, but to Peter he hadn’t even shown that curtesy. He might actually enjoy living with Sirius. Peter thought it all went back to his being a werewolf, and the self-loathing that inhabited Remus because of it. He yearned for someone equally damaged, someone who had means of numbing the pain, and Sirius was the best bet for that. Of course it was unlikely to be for selfless reasons, in Peter’s experience Sirius was far from selfless. But he had always enjoyed the challenge of getting Firewhisky when they were too young to buy it, and now that it wasn’t illegal for them anymore he was exhibiting a keen interest in all manners of drugs, both magic and muggle, and all under the guise of alleviating poor Remus’s pre-moon symptoms. Peter thought wryly that there were other ways Sirius could be kissing Moony better, too, if Remus would let him. There had been a few strange weeks in fifth year when Sirius and Remus had been a little bit more than friends, but at the time Sirius’s poor impulse-control and lack of common decency had put an end to whatever extra there had been between them. Peter had privately thought that Snape had deserved what was coming to him; he had been hinting that he knew Remus was a werewolf, dropping hints to that effect to anyone who would listen. Fortunately, nobody had been keen to listen to Snape at the time, and afterwards he had been sworn to secrecy by an unimpressed Dumbledore. Sirius hadn’t even been expelled; after all it had just been a prank gone wrong.

Not only did Remus seem to be alright living with Sirius; he had also turned a bit cooler and a bit more rebellious under Sirius’s wing. By now the two appeared to have an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of all the best wizarding bars in the country, and muggle bars in London, and Remus must be practicing his duelling with Sirius since he had become so much better and faster recently, that’s what a proud Lily had told him. The shy and nervous book-worm could never have held his own in a fight like the one last night, from what Peter had been led to believe.

Nobody had offered to practice duelling with Peter. He was in half a mind to ask James, since he had been seeing rather a lot of him recently, but then an off-hand remark by Sirius had made him realize that James had been making so much time for him recently purely because of the breakup with Marlene. It shouldn’t have surprised or offended Peter, yet it sort of did. He was conflicted about it at the very least. James was kind and magnanimous; he was not to blame here. But there was still resentment there, deep within Peter’s bones. James had not thought that Remus losing his job was on the same level as Peter losing his girlfriend, otherwise he would have offered his disguised counselling services to Remus. Peter was the weakest link, he was not as capable as Remus at overcoming hardships, even though back in the day Peter knew that James would have put him and Remus on the same level. 

The others were no longer at Hogwarts, but Peter had been left behind. 

Peter also had his family to think about. It was just his mother, but she was plenty on her own. The others didn’t understand this, of course. His mother only had him, and she was fragile and nervous, and he meant the world to her, even if you sometimes wouldn’t think so from the way she complained about him to his innumerable aunts and uncles, and to the neighbours. She needed her son to help her around the house. It was to be expected that she would throw a fit when he, admittedly by mistake, let slip that he was in the Order. She had read all about the Order, of course, when they had time in the mornings they would sometimes read the newspapers together. And the newspapers were forever banging on about the Order nowadays. James had shown up in the paper more than once because of his undeniable ties to the Order, and of course his mother had had her suspicions since then. But Peter had denied it for as long as possible, at least until it had slipped out of him last night when they had tried to call him in as reinforcement. Not that he would have been much use even if he had joined, he knew his skills weren’t on everybody else’s level, and really it had been quite unfair and mean of Moody to call on Peter.

The others did not have the same difficulties with their families. Sirius had no respect for his family at all; Peter had heard him laugh about his father dying from a stunning spell. Remus’s mother was dead, and he had a very distant relationship with his father. Lily’s parents and sister were all muggles, and they wouldn’t have the first idea of what she got up to with the Order. James’s parents were brim-full with pride no matter what he did (as they well might), and they would only encourage him to take down as many Death Eaters as he could. James would never die in a fight either, Peter agreed wholeheartedly with James’s parents there; he was much too skilled for that. 

There was a scratching noise from Peter’s window, and he was interrupted in his ruminations. Odin, James’s haughty one-eyed owl, was hovering outside with a letter. Peter let the bird in, and to his delight it was carrying an invitation from James and Lily to come to Sunday dinner. Peter cheered up infinitely. His friends were a rather good bunch, after all, and maybe he had been a bit too harsh and judgemental. It was just the paranoia of war, surely everyone felt that way nowadays? He was looking forward to seeing them all again under nicer circumstances, and this would be a good time to ask them for help with duelling practice. He really needed to get a hang of it as soon as possible, it was embarrassing to not be able to help out the Order the way he wanted to. And he needed to show Marlene what she was missing out on, too, some skilful hexes from him in the next fight, and maybe he should drop a hint or two to her that he was no longer available. That should give her something to think about. 

Peter scribbled an affirmative reply on the back of the invitation and sent Odin back home.


	34. Do you remember me? And the kid I used to be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from "I'm not Jesus" by Apocalyptica. 
> 
> Chapter warning for character death and for different types of disturbing behaviour.

Regulus had never felt more stupid in all his life. This surpassed that time when he was five and Sirius had tricked him into eating doxy droppings (he had eaten five whole pellets of it, as Sirius had insisted they were adult sweeties and would taste better once he got used to the taste. He had finally caught on when Sirius had pressed his whole fist into his mouth to keep himself from laughing). It was also more embarrassing than when Sirius, at a large family gathering, had given him his first glass of Firewhisky, telling him it was spicy apple juice. He had tried to knock the whole glass back and ended up spitting it all out noisily at the feet of a smirking cousin Narcissa. He had been teased by just about every single one of his relatives for it, they hadn’t cared that he’d never had alcohol before. He’d like to think he’d learnt from his past mistakes, but that seemed to be wishful thinking. Yet again, it had been Sirius convincing him to digest something disgusting, and now Regulus was all woman. 

Ruth Yaxley wasn’t Regulus’s type of woman either, although he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. She was very curvy, and quite tall as well. Similar height to him, really. Everything between his legs felt terribly foreign, and he was desperately hoping he would not have to go to the toilet in this body. He had no wish to get better acquainted with that area. Her breasts were massive, quite the eyesore and very difficult to ignore, although Regulus was valiantly trying to. He had kept his eyes tightly shut for the most part when Sirius helped dress him. Sirius, of course, had found it all hilarious, and had tried to drag Lupin in to watch as well. Lupin seemed to have a much greater sense of propriety than Regulus’s brother, and he had kept his back to them for as long as there were breasts on display. After that he had laughed away with Sirius, who had tamed the strawberry-blonde curls to lie smoothly around Regulus’s head and put on both mascara and lipstick. It worried Regulus to think how Sirius had learnt such skills. The end result wasn’t sloppy or overdone, and the robes, hat and female underwear Sirius had bought for the occasion fitted almost perfectly. 

There had been plenty of unsavoury rumours about his brother’s sexuality at Hogwarts, and Regulus could remember being asked by some Slytherins if Sirius was into cross-dressing at home (his brother had been spotted wearing eye-liner at a few common room parties, and he had gone through an unfortunate phase of wearing tight-fitting and colourful muggle clothing, although as far as Regulus could tell it had still been male muggle clothing). The Sirius he knew at home certainly hadn’t strutted about in women’s clothes, and Regulus had told the curious (perhaps more like malicious) Slytherins as much, but the expertise he had shown today was unnerving. Regulus had felt too sick to ask while he was being dolled up, and now he was already standing outside of the Lestrange’s beautiful terraced house in Chelsea. 

The Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix lived together in apparent domestic bliss. Old Mr and Mrs Lestrange lived in a large mausoleum of a house in Essex, and Regulus, who had met them, had an inkling that had the two generations lived together it would not have been blissful for any of the parties involved. Cousin Bellatrix was a difficult woman to take, and she had probably married one of the only men in the country who could deal with her. 

Cheyne Walk was one of the most expensive streets in London, but Regulus was much too nervous today to notice any of his surroundings. Lupin was hiding in an invisibility cloak somewhere outside, but if Regulus was apprehended before he got back out of the wards around the house there would be nothing anyone could do. Sirius had sent the real Ruth an owl telling her he would stop by in the early afternoon, and they were hoping she was interested enough to stay in and wait for him. Regulus knocked on the door.

“How did you get through the gate? Has Rabastan added you to the ward?” It was Bellatrix who had opened the door, her long black hair flowing silkily around her pale, dramatically made-up face. Her eyes were heavy lidded with long lashes, and her grey eyes were just a shade darker than his own.

Regulus swallowed down some fear and bile. He should have realized that he wasn’t supposed to be able to waltz into the property like this. The reason he had been able to walk through the gate, he now realized, was that he had the dark mark burnt into his arm (it had not gone away even with Polyjuice), and the mark served as a method of identification that most of the Death Eaters used in the wards of their properties. Ruth Yaxley, whatever her allegiances, had not been branded, and should therefore not have been able to enter through the gate. 

“I think he has, yes”, Regulus stuttered. “Is he in?”

His cousin snarled menacingly, dark lipstick giving way to sharp, shiny teeth, and stared him down. The look in her eyes told him that Bellatrix was not a fan of her future sister-in-law, far from it. 

“RABASTAN!” she roared, suddenly and without turning her head. This meant that she was technically shouting right in Regulus’s face, and he could feel Ruth’s eardrums ringing with it in the ensuing silence. Mercifully, there was the sound of quick footsteps, and Bellatrix turned in a whirl of black hair and left the doorstep, leaving room for a wiry, shifty-looking man in his late twenties. He had a very predatory gleam in his eyes as soon as he caught sight of the visitor, and Regulus fought down a shudder as the other man stared him up and down. 

“I thought we could take a walk if you’re not too busy?” stammered Regulus. He could feel the foreign face blushing, which only served to make Lestrange lick his lips wetly.

“I think not. I’ll come with you to your flat, though.”

“Alright,” Regulus said, thinking fast, “as long as we apparate. I don’t want to get ash in my hair.”

Lestrange grinned, but he went to grab his coat. Regulus drew a sigh of relief. He would just have to be quick with the curse. 

Lestrange showed up with his winter coat and shouted something into the depths of the house about going out. As they walked down the garden path together Regulus could feel the other man feeling up his ample bottom. It was one of the most mortifying experiences of his life, right up there with the doxy droppings and his first drink of Firewhisky, but he didn't scream or punch Lestrange. Regulus stuck his hand in his robe pocket, where the comforting bit of blackthorn and dragon heartstring that was his wand was currently located. They passed the gate, and Regulus barely waited until Lestrange had turned around to close it. Wand discreetly in hand, he thought “imperio”. Just like his father and Sirius he was very accomplished at non-verbal magic, and fortunately the imperius curse was the type that lent itself to non-verbal. There would be no memory to erase from Lestrange of anyone pointing their wand at him and saying “imperio”, which could be vital if the Dark Lord ever chose to delve very far into Rabastan’s memories. 

The frighteningly powerful sensation of another person’s will bending to his, malleable like soggy clay, protruded into Regulus’s head. He stuck his wand back in his pocket, but kept his hand closed around it. Then he more thought than told Lestrange to add Ruth Yaxley to be welcome within the wards of the house. Rabastan took out his wand and performed a complicated pattern with it, while muttering something. Regulus dug through his handbag and found Sirius’s hip flask. He had a surreptitious drink. After that Regulus got Lestrange to extend his arm, grabbed it, and apparated them into Diagon Alley. 

Regulus kept hold of Lestrange’s arm, although it felt wrong to hang from somebody else’s arm like an overdressed Christmas ornament. Regulus powered through, quietly telling Lestrange that they needed to go to his vault in Gringotts. Lestrange was happy to oblige, and he walked quite confidently for somebody imperiused. Rather lucky, Regulus thought, as he was normally a confident man. 

Once they were queueing for a goblin, Regulus whispered into Rabastan’s ear what he was to say, and that he was to demand for them both to be taken down to the vault. Lestrange did sound unfocused and a bit off as he made his demands to the goblin; but the goblin merely looked superior and unamused (as usual) and led the way to the carts that would take them down. Rabastan moaned sickly on the way down, it was a noise that he would never have made in the company of other people, and hence it was lucky that the goblin was their only audience. The goblin continued to look condescending but was happy to let them into the Lestrange’s vault. 

Once they were alone, Regulus told Rabastan to find the engagement ring he was planning to give to Ruth. After that he was free to start looking himself. As luck would have it, he could feel it, although a prickling of dark magic could be felt almost everywhere in the vault. An awful sense of doom and foreboding was emanating from a shelf stocked with old potions and some rather fine silverware. There it was, a small, golden cup with two handles, twinkling oh-so innocently at him all the while emitting the evilest, pulsating of sensations. As Regulus stretched out for it, he felt a different type of wrong. He heard a groan behind him.

Cursing silently, Regulus realized that his focus had slipped, and likely the curse was losing its hold. He flipped around, wand already in hand, and managed to get in another imperio before Rabastan had done more than confusedly scratch the side of his head. Lestrange’s other hand was holding a small box, presumably containing the ring. Satisfied that he was once again in control of the situation, Regulus conjured up a handkerchief and took the cup with it. It was just a feeling, but he thought something might curse him if he touched the horcrux with his bare hands. The Dark Lord had an unfortunately low opinion on the value of other people’s lives. 

Regulus made a shoddy duplicate of the cup which took the horcrux’s place on the shelf, and then dropped the cup in the handkerchief into his handbag (the thought of Regulus Black in the possession of a handbag made him cringe), he ordered Rabastan to take his arm and together they left the vault. The goblin continued to be silently unimpressed with them and took them back over ground. 

Regulus left Gringott’s, still on the arm of Lestrange, heart hammering in his chest. They were so close now, it was usually about now things went to hell. He needed to get Lestrange back to Chelsea, and then he needed to obliviate him somewhere secluded. They disapparated, and he thought he could hear someone invisible apparating close by. He was just about to start with the memory charm (something he was quite worried about, never having performed the spell before, although Sirius had insisted that it wasn’t difficult to do at all) when someone called Lestrange’s name. Regulus heart leapt right into his throat, as he turned to face the enemy, wand held out in front of him. 

It was Corban Yaxley, the brother of Ruth, the woman Regulus was impersonating right this second. 

“Ah, and Ruth as well. The happy couple,” Yaxley’s mouth twisted a little at this. Then he cocked his head in puzzlement. His sister was still pointing her wand at him. If he had above average eye-sight, he would also be able to tell that it wasn’t her wand. Rabastan Lestrange was turned towards the brick wall, his eyes a little out of focus. He hadn’t acknowledged the greeting, indeed was giving the impression of having heard absolutely nothing of what Yaxley had said. 

There was nothing else for it, Regulus thought, perhaps still a bit high on the power of controlling Lestrange. 

“Avada Kedavra,” he whispered in the melodic and rather sweet voice of Ruth Yaxley. Corban didn’t even have his wand in his hand, and he looked gobsmacked as the green light hit him. Shaking like someone who was losing his mind, Regulus turned back to Lestrange and stunned him. After that he set about performing the memory charm as well as he could. Only there was rather more Lestrange needed to forget now. He could vaguely hear someone behind him, and he debated a bit with himself about whether or not he cared enough about his own life to turn around and defend himself. He did have the horcrux in his handbag, he supposed, and maybe that was enough reason to care. 

As Regulus turned the corpse was being transfigured into a large and ugly flowerpot. The pot had a distinctly skeletal look to it, and the short palm-like plant inside of it would not become alive no matter how many times the invisible man tried. The soil beneath the dead palm looked just right, though. 

Regulus moved towards Lupin in the invisibility cloak on shaking legs. The moderate heels on his shoes were no help. He wasn’t sure if Lupin would accept him, Regulus felt wretched and ugly. But once he drew near, a hand appeared, and Lupin eased the invisibility cloak over Regulus, too. Their feet showed plainly, but the rest of them were covered. Lupin met his gaze briefly. Regulus thought he looked sad. Then he pointed his wand at Lestrange, said “rennervate”, and apparated himself and Regulus away from the scene of the crime.


	35. I don't need to sell my soul, he's already in me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "I Wanna Be Adored" by the Stone Roses.

Sirius was pulling his dragonhide boots back on when they heard a loud banging from the hallway. Ruth still wasn’t quite dressed, and as they were both sitting on her bed it was painfully obvious what they had been up to. Sirius crossed his fingers and hoped it wasn’t a Death Eater. The Order was moderately sure that Ruth’s brother was a Death Eater, and obviously she was getting married to a confirmed one. Regulus had, so far, refused to divulge the names of the Death Eaters he knew. Apparently betraying them was not the same as betraying Voldemort in his book, and it was the source of increasing agitation between Sirius and Regulus. It didn’t help that Remus had pulled him aside and told him to drop it for the time being, that they wouldn’t be able to tell the Order anything, anyway, since they had promised to keep Regulus a secret. It was all manners of infuriating, especially that Remus was taking his brother’s side.

Sirius pulled out his wand and eyed the window appraisingly. They were three stories up, but his cushioning charms were rather good. The window looked big enough for him to fit through.

“Ruth, is that Sirius Black?” 

Sirius paused in front of the window and turned to see who their unexpected visitor was. It was the sister Celeste, a much better option than the brother or the boyfriend. Celeste was barely older than Sirius, and the least violent one of that family as far as he knew. Sirius gave up the window as an unnecessary risk to take, and walked out the door instead, hitting Celeste with a charming grin as he passed her. Ruth barely waited until he was out of her bedroom before explaining that she was just using him for a quick shag, and that it didn’t mean anything. Sirius, who had heard that exact sentence about himself on numerous occasions, barely felt a twinge of annoyance. He left the flat, whistling obnoxiously as he went.

Her flat was between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley, just opposite the McKinnon’s apothecary, and the houses around here had all seen better days. Sirius pulled up the hood of his winter coat to shield his face from the curious glances of people in the street. He should have worn wizarding clothes for this, he supposed.

He apparated back to Mile End with a louder crack than usual, and as he walked the deserted hallways of his block of flats he felt his blood pressure rising from renewed nerves. He barged in through the front door with his wand raised. It was becoming a nervous habit, perhaps he was becoming addicted to the calming feeling of his wand pulsing with magic in his hand. 

His brother was on the floor with his back to the sofa, still in a dress and with pins in his hair, but he’d changed back to his own body. Remus was in the armchair with his wand. Both were clutching their own bottle of Firewhisky. Sirius passed the kitchen table on his way to them, and noted the locket, a new golden cup, and a foreign wand on the kitchen table. Besides the obvious traces of dark magic, two successfully stolen horcruxes had a whiff of success about it, but Sirius neared his friend and his brother cautiously, like he would two skittish unicorn foals. The two bottles of Firewhisky looked less like a celebration and more like a drowning of sorrows. 

Sirius sat himself down on the sofa and started drumming his fingers expectantly on his burnt orange velour flares, the ones he'd been persuaded into buying in a fashionable boutique by Girorgia the Italian girl. Remus wasn’t meeting his eyes and Regulus looked as if he was contemplating drowning himself in his bottle. The atmosphere was thick with regret and guilt, and the horcruxes on the table were emanating something eviller even than what was kept locked up in that one corner cupboard in the drawing room in Grimmauld Place. 

“Success?” asked Sirius, knowing full well that he was being impertinent. 

“I got the cup,” said Regulus flatly, at the same time as Remus said: “I turned a corpse into a palm tree”. 

Sirius did a double take. “Why on earth would you do that?”

There was a lengthy pause in which Remus refused to look at him and Regulus made noises reminiscent of the ones he used to make as a child when waking up from a nightmare.

“I couldn’t get the transfiguration quite right. I wish James had been there, he would have done a much better job,” Remus admitted with the air of someone clearing matters up. “Once the corpse starts decomposing it’ll probably start looking like a human body again.”

“Right,” Sirius agreed cautiously. James had always been a bit of a transfiguration prodigy, even Professor McGonagall had occasionally allowed herself to be impressed by his skill.

“I killed Corban Yaxley,” explained Regulus finally, but he sounded uncertain. Sirius could tell he had started crying behind the hands shielding his face from view. “I panicked, I don’t know what happened. It seemed like I had to at the time.”

“Right,” Sirius said again. He was still struggling to piece everything together. “And Corban Yaxley is now a palm tree?”

“Looks more like a dead potted plant. A human-sized one, though,” said Remus.

“Good man,” Sirius said, attempting to sound suitably impressed even though he was getting the distinct impression that Remus’s transfiguration skills had left a great deal to be desired. “And Lestrange?” he added hopefully. 

“He has had his memory modified,” said Remus, glancing at Regulus.

“I think I did it well enough,” said Regulus, sneaking a peak at Sirius. Sirius smiled carefully at his half-hidden, tear-soaked face and stole the Firewhisky bottle. He drank and listened to Regulus fill in the rest of the missing pieces from the afternoon. Remus continued to look pale and stony-faced, but Sirius couldn’t help but think that everything could have gone much worse. They had the horcrux at any rate.

“You’ve killed before, haven’t you?” Sirius said flippantly once his brother had stopped talking. The Firewhisky was burning comfortably in his throat. 

“I hate it,” said Regulus promptly. 

“That’s a relief,” muttered Sirius, trying to cheer Remus up. It didn’t work. Quite the opposite, in fact, as Remus clutched his wand more tightly and put away his bottle. Astonishing himself with a rare use of emotional intelligence, Sirius realized that Remus feared his brother. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s never a good idea for you to walk around killing people, but Yaxley was a Death Eater, right? He would’ve figured out you’re not Ruth, and he might have cottoned on to Lestrange being imperiused. You had to do something, and if Voldemort’s as good of a legilimens as you claim, then killing the witness was one of the better solutions. Shame you didn’t kill Rabastan, too.” 

Sirius knew he’d gone too far even before he registered how hard his brother now had to work to hide his crying, and certainly before he saw Remus’s face, which was white with suppressed fury. Sirius swore exasperatedly and in a tone that suggested he was the reasonable one. Setting aside his bottle he sunk down on the floor and gathered up his brother in his arms, suppressing his laughter at the ridiculousness of seeing him in ill-fitting, sexy witch's dress robes. His brother predictably struggled against the closeness.

“You’ll be alright, Regulus,” Sirius said quietly and hugged him tighter. Sirius hadn’t been much of a hugger until he moved in with the Potters, but once there he’d quickly picked up on how much easier it was to express complicated feelings with hugs rather than with words. He owed the Potters, and James in particular, so much. He’d probably be in Regulus’s place if James hadn’t decided to start talking to him on that first ride on the Hogwarts Express. 

“You look ridiculous in a dress, you know,” Sirius said conversationally. His brother made a weird hiccoughing noise. “Not a good look on you at all. The lipstick’s a bit much, too, but I think the mascara suits you. Brings out your eyes.”

Regulus hit him, but his sobs sounded closer to pained laughter than crying. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to go to Dad’s funeral,” Sirius continued, and started taking out the pins from Regulus’s hair. He was thinking of transvestites and silently promising himself that Regulus would never find out about the private ode to his parents he had contributed with on that grand occasion. “I know you would’ve liked to pay your respects and stuff. If you want to borrow the invisibility cloak and go cry a bit by his grave we can organize it.”

He wasn’t expecting a reply, but thought he heard a half-choked “I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll go grab a curry for us, and when I come back we can eat and plan our next move. Sound good?” Sirius looked at Remus for confirmation, and he looked perhaps a little bit softer around the eyes by now. Remus nodded, and Sirius felt himself relax. It was easier to pretend to Regulus that everything would be okay if Remus was on board.

“Do we know how to destroy the horcruxes?” asked Sirius when he was back on the sofa with a large plate of curry, having smoked only one cigarette on the way. The other two were picking at their food and didn’t seem particularly hungry, but Sirius was starving. 

“There are some complicated dark rituals,” began Remus, wrinkling his nose a little as if he thought there was a bad smell in the room, “none of which I’d like to see any of us attempt. Fiendfyre and basilisk venom are the only other tested methods of destroying a horcrux, although in theory there are a handful of other rare venoms that should do the trick.”

“Sounds complicated,” Sirius said, although he hadn’t really expected it to be simple.

“You have to put the container of the soul fragment into irreparable damage to kill it, and it needs to be done with magic.”

Regulus, sans make-up and back in wizards’ robes, snorted at his plate, as though the idea of destroying a horcrux the muggle way equalled unfathomable stupidity. For once, Sirius was inclined to agree with him.

“Does this agree with the conclusions you’ve drawn?” asked Remus quietly of Regulus, Sirius could tell that he was more annoyed than frightened of him now. What an excellent turn of events. 

Regulus nodded and made a visible effort to eat.

“Had you ever had a curry before we took you in?” asked Sirius, most of his brain still busy contemplating the destruction of Voldemort’s soul.

“No, but it’s not bad,” Regulus admitted. Sirius felt proud. There was some hope in the boy, yet.

“So, we need to find basilisk venom, and a way to get into the Malfoy place,” said Remus, gently steering the conversation back on course. 

“I can get into their manor, as long as they’ve not drastically changed the security around there,” said Regulus offhandedly. 

“You’ve said that before, but do you really mean it?” asked Remus, interest suddenly piqued. Of course this would be just the thing to give Remus a stiffy, thought Sirius amusedly. Remus had spent months researching and perfecting wards for the Order and figuring out how to break the ones the other side were using. To him this was a great opportunity to further his knowledge. 

“You just need the Dark Mark,” said Regulus dully, and went on to explain about a protective enchantment that couldn’t be passed by anyone without the Dark Mark branded into their arm. Anyone who tried without the mark would be struck by magical lightning and was unlikely to survive. Sirius met Remus’s eyes, and to his surprise his friend was grinning.

“You both have spectacularly bad taste in tattoos.”

“Oi!” Sirius exclaimed irritably, but inwardly he agreed. Another shortcoming to blame on the family curse, no doubt. Regulus was looking at him with a pointedly raised eyebrow, but Sirius refused to explain himself. “So basically, you can enter their poncey manor under the invisibility cloak and just have a quiet rummage around?”

“That’s about the size of it,” agreed Regulus, and a small smile was playing at the corners of his mouth for the first time that day. 

“I’ll try to keep the cloak for as long as possible,” Sirius thought out loud, “and we’ll ask around for some nice basilisk venom. Maybe McKinnon's apothecary… Or even Mundungus, I suppose…” 

“There might be some at Grimmauld Place,” said Regulus hesitantly. 

“I’d like to see Mother’s face if you went there and asked her for a vial of basilisk venom,” grinned Sirius, and watched what little animation there had been in his brother’s face die like a snuffed-out flame. How Regulus still cared for their monster of a mother was beyond Sirius, but before he could go and make it worse Remus intervened. 

“Thanks for dinner, Sirius, and I think I can hear that mirror of yours screaming in your bedroom. Better not keep James waiting.”

“He is the love of my life,” Sirius agreed easily, and left Regulus to his brooding, and Remus to his plotting. He was no doubt trying to think of the best way to ask Regulus more about Death Eater wards.

“James,” Sirius said as he flung his bedclothes around looking for the mirror.

“Padfoot,” came the prompt response from beside his pillow. James’s hazel eyes burned behind his glasses, he looked almost beside himself with excitement. “Are you free tonight? How would you like to go on a secret mission to the depths of all that is salacious scandal and degenerate depravity?”

“Muggle clothes or robes?” asked Sirius, thinking immediately of the practicalities. He was going, of course.


	36. I’m a rebel just for kicks now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Portugal. The Man's "Feel It Still".

“What’ve you been up to this week? I thought I was your best girl, but now I’m starting to feel like I only see you when there’s a fight on,” James said. 

“The usual,” said Sirius distractedly, eyes locked on the building they were surveying. “Plotting the brutal demise of Voldemort, shagging the girlfriends of Death Eaters, making sure our Moony doesn’t snap and do something rash...”

James laughed quietly and turned his attention back to the situation at hand. They had parked and disillusioned the motorbike one street up and were now hidden under the invisibility cloak in front of a neat but unremarkable-looking two-storey building in Holborn. The neighbourhood was mainly muggle, with Diagon Alley a fifteen-minute walk away. It was a dark evening since what little snow there had been in London that late in winter had turned into a dark, gravelly slush. The only street light on their side of the pavement was flickering ominously, giving every impression of wishing to give up on providing light for the street.

Sirius had introduced him to Mundungus Fletcher back in autumn, and the three of them had gotten pissed together a couple of times since. Unadvisedly so, as James had heard that Dung was known for pocketing valuables he found on his drinking companions once they’d lost control of their faculties. Dung had not stolen anything from them, though, a little bit odd as both James and Sirius were well-off, Sirius downright posh (despite his disownment) and James with a father who had made a small fortune from _Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion_. James’s theory was that Dung thought knowing them might come in handy later, maybe he counted on them having the right contacts and extra cash to help him out of trouble with the law if (when) he got caught trading stolen or classified goods. Knowing Sirius, he was probably buying certain illegal substances from Dung and paying good money for it, too. At any rate Dung had been happy to meet up with them in unsavoury boozers around Soho (he was banned from the Leaky Cauldron and from the Hog's Head, although Sirius and Remus had spotted him there once disguised as a hag), and they’d bought him drinks and he had told them ridiculous tales from old business ventures of his. James had immediately realized that he might hear things that could be of use to the Order. The Death Eaters had plenty of people in the circles Dung frequented, and so the two had decided to keep in touch with Dung and see if they could win his trust. Dung wasn’t stupid, and he’d quickly figured out that they were in the Order, but so far it hadn’t scared him off. And that afternoon when James had run into him outside the apothecary with Lily, Dung had taken him aside into the close beside the McKinnon’s apothecary and asked him how much it would be worth to him to get the address to _Pure Magic_ ’s offices, along with the password to get in. James had paid him 10 galleons for his trouble (out of his own pocket) and received a grubby bit of parchment with an address in Holborn written on it, together with the word “rattlesnake”. 

James had dutifully sent a message to Moody that he had found a promising lead on the whereabouts of _Pure Magic_ ’s headquarters (leaving Dung’s name out of it), and the auror had told him to continue the investigation, and to bring back-up if James thought he needed it. James had neglected to mention that he had a spot of breaking and entering in mind, as that was a) illegal, and b) the sort of thing Benjy Fenwick should be brought along for. He oversaw the gathering of information about _Pure Magic_ but bringing him would also increase the need of going in with a proper plan, which would no doubt take days to conceive and maybe result in the more senior members of the Order deciding it was too dangerous, and them having to abort the whole plan.

“Shall we just go in and hope for the best?” whispered Sirius in his ear. This was very much the normal level of planning the two of them did, and James immediately replied in the affirmative. It was late, and it was unlikely that the propaganda office was fully manned. Of course, James did not have the slightest idea how many people might work for _Pure Magic_ , as that, too, would have involved talking to Benjy Fenwick.

Moving smoothly together under the cloak (they had more than seven years of practice in how to move in sync and Remus liked to say they were like stealthy ballerinas) they approached the front door. James tapped the door experimentally with his wand and said “rattlesnake” under his breath. The door opened with a satisfying click. They wasted no time but snuck into a dark room and closed the door behind them. Then they waited.

The room they had entered was big and dark, but they could see the shadows of large desks and chairs.

“Lumos!” whispered Sirius after less than the pre-negotiated 10 seconds. He never could count, James thought fondly, but it didn’t matter this time. The office was empty of scary pureblood fanatics with journalistic ambitions and mediocre writing skills. The light from Sirius’s wand showed them 3 desks heavily cluttered with parchments, quills, ink, tea cups and books. One wall had a shelf full of butterbeer bottles, wideye potion bottles and a box of assorted Honeydukes sweets. Old covers of _Pure Magic_ covered the wall next to the window. James pulled the cloak off them with a flourish and was just about to stuff it under the front of his phoenix-print t-shirt when Sirius snatched it from him and tucked it into the silly canvas bag he was carrying over his shoulder. James shrugged and focused on the room instead. He was drawn to the wall at the far end of the room which was covered in enlarged photographs of members of the Order. They were black and white pictures but were fastened to the wall with blood-coloured darts that trembled energetically and even hissed when he moved close. 

The largest picture was of Moody, and someone had drawn a crude representation of a magical dart board in red ink over his picture. The so-called centaur’s eye in the centre of the board was conveniently placed right over one of Moody’s eyes and someone had unsurprisingly driven a dart through it. James quickly found a picture of himself, ironically one that had been taken and published by the _Daily Prophet_ for one of their nonsensical stories about his role as a deranged freedom fighter, and one of Sirius that was so old it looked as if it had been taken when he was still living with his parents. Both their pictures had been adorned with ink, but the additions merely lent crudeness and sexual innuendo to the photographs. They had slogans, though. Over James’s picture the word “Bloodtraitor #1” was scribbled, and over Sirius’s “Bloodtraitor #2”. There were other pictures of them, too, James found, and some of them had clearly been taken in secret: pictures of them at the pub, old pictures from Hogwarts, one of Sirius on his motorbike… There were pictures of most of the rest of the Order, but for almost everyone else there was just the one photo each. The one of Lily said “Mudblood”, and upon seeing it he felt his blood boil and wand arm quiver indignantly. There was one of Dorcas Meadowes, with a large red cross drawn over her face. Her caption had been “Halfblood Prophet Scum”. Dumbledore’s picture said “Puppet Master”, and the Prewett twins had the caption “Bloodtraiors #3½”. There were a handful of pictures of non-Order members as well, mainly politicians, Wizengamot members and Hogwarts professors, but also one of old Lydia Quail, who owned a magical repair shop in Hogsmeade, and Rubina Swift, seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. 

Lily had given James a disposable muggle camera, and James put it to good use. He had no idea how and if it worked (muggle technology made him nervous), but he could hear an angry whirring from the magical typewriter on the desk next to him, and that served as a reassuring sign that the camera likely was functioning. 

“For fuck’s sake, why am I number two?” whispered Sirius in his ear. James attempted a laugh, but he was quite upset and it came out sounding more like the noise an offended kneazle might make. 

“Should we take them with us?” asked James. “Modify them?”

“We’re at least changing the captions,” murmured Sirius, and he raised his wand and started on his own picture. 

James thought the best would be if they could change the appearance of the Order members in the pictures, but photoshopping magical pictures was notoriously difficult, as the subjects had a will of their own. He started taking them down instead, regretting that he did not have other pictures to swap them for. It would have been good fun to put up pictures of Death Eaters and come up with slogans for them instead.

“Let’s leave these two of you and me?” suggested Sirius, as he put the finishing touches to the photos that had previously contained the slogans “Bloodtraitor #1 and #2”. They now read “Ziggy Stardust” for James and “Killer Queen” for Sirius. Sirius had erased the penises that had been drawn next to their chins, and both of their photographic selves looked visibly relieved with the new state of affairs. Photo James waved tentatively at the flesh-and-blood one as he nodded his agreement to Sirius. “Hang in there”, he mouthed to his photo-self. The Death Eaters knew who the two of them were anyway, and he liked the idea of leaving their pictures behind in lieu of a more traditional two-fingered salute. It also meant that nobody else would be blamed for this break-in, the Death Eaters and their magazine would know that James and Sirius and nobody else was behind this. James snapped a photo of their finished work, and then turned his attention to the closest desk. 

“I found a half-finished article on how Dumbledore’s ruined Hogwarts, we could take it with us or maybe burn it?” asked Sirius from the next desk over. 

“Let’s take it with us”, decided James. His desk was proving to be disappointing. Lots of different-coloured quills, neat scrolls of fresh parchment, the type-writer that was still emitting displeased sighs, and the only thing written down were a bunch of numbers that didn’t mean anything to James. He pocketed that bit of parchment anyway, just in case.

After that he thought for sure he was hearing a scratching noise by the door, and he stopped dead in his tracks with his wand pointing at the door. Sirius cottoned on immediately and mirrored him, but there was nothing. They both counted to ten in their heads; or James did, anyway, Sirius apparently counted to seven. They both continued with the desks; Sirius had moved on to the last one by now. James opened the top drawer of his desk. There were several chocolate frogs and one letter. The letter itself turned out to be of little interest; it merely contained a suggestion to have lunch at the Five Griffins and “discuss matters further”. The envelope turned out to be of interest, however. It was addressed to “Miss Skeeter, editorial office, _Pure Magic_ ”. 

“That cow Rita Skeeter is a double agent!” James hissed in Sirius’s direction. His best friend looked up from a grimy-looking bottle he had been sniffing. “She works for _Pure Magic_ too, not just the _Prophet_ , I found a letter addressed to her.”

“Sort of figures,” Sirius whispered back, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence. The door was suddenly blasted open, and a stunning spell whizzed past James, hitting the already disgruntled type-writer. It made a low, keening sound that was largely swallowed up by the small explosion from Sirius’s answering spell, and from the noise of breaking glass as James blasted the window behind him to pieces. He delayed for a second to shoot a very forceful rictusempra, which saw its target double over in unbecoming giggles and subsequently hit by a nail-growing spell of Sirius’s. James did not stop to admire their combined handiwork but jumped through the window at breakneck speed, catching his leg on a shard of glass that was still protruding from the window frame. It merely tore his jeans, and he landed smoothly in a crouching position. James flicked his wand and heard a satisfying yell as the red darts they had previously torn from the wall hit a new target. Sirius threw himself out of the window in turn, head first and at a bit of an angle, but he managed to roll smoothly on his back and got to his feet just as their pursuers came around the house firing spells. There had been two of them, James saw now, and the one they’d already attacked was not steady on his feet, nor was his aim any good. The nail-growing hex had clearly done its job. The other one had presumably been peppered by little darts, but he was nevertheless up and running.

“Stupefy!” shouted James, although sprinting, aiming and dodging spells at the same time was a challenge even for a seasoned multitasker such a himself. Sirius was by his side matching his pace and firing explosive-looking non-verbal spells as he went. James decided they’d done enough and reached out and grabbed his arm and disapparated. With a crack they appeared further up the street, right next to the little alley where they had hidden the motorbike. James jumped on right behind Sirius, arms tight around his waist as he kicked the motorcycle into action. It roared into life, and Sirius promptly steered them up towards the sky. The bike was still disillusioned, and James took the opportunity to disillusion himself and Sirius too, swearing a little at the uncomfortable sensation the spell left him with. A skilful confringo came their way just then, clearly their attackers had kept their eyes peeled for them. Sirius had cast his protective spells on the motorcycle well, however, and the curse simply deflected as if having hit a barrier. 

James could feel his best friend shaking, and soon he heard the laughter too, bright and loud barks of it that was dispersed by the cold night air. James joined in, the adrenalin from the fight and the exhilarating height and speed they were flying at working together to make him light-headed and ecstatic. Thousands of gloomy streetlights, headlights from dirty cars and a gleaming, dank river made up London underneath them, but this high up the air felt clean and if he squinted through his glasses the city looked almost beautiful in the night.


	37. I have a constant fear that something's always near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Iron Maiden's "Fear of the Dark".

Gideon was pretending to relax in his own kitchen. Fabian was there by his side, as he always was, and so was Benjy Fenwick. Fabian was in high spirits and wearing his best “good listener”-face, arm still wrapped in a bandage from the last fight. Benjy was in the middle of a furious tirade, fists clenched, jaw at a proud angle and eyes cool and in control. A few years ago, their proximity would have been enough for Gideon to calm down and feel good, but not anymore, not since the fights with the Death Eaters had become routine work and their lack of personal safety a fact they were expected to swallow. 

Fabian was a beautiful soul. He was uncomplicatedly good, and he didn’t need anyone’s help to be happy. He did the right thing, loved people superficially and generously and he didn’t have to understand his brother to love and accept him. They were not the same, never had been and that didn’t bother Fabian in the slightest, he simply didn’t care that he wasn’t privy to the darkness in his brother’s mind. The war had little effect on Fabian and he would be alright no matter what. The war was having a profound effect on Gideon, and there was nothing that worked to alleviate it anymore. 

Gideon was terrified he would be killed, terrified he would be accused of something he hadn’t done, terrified he would be accused of having done abominable things he had done. He feared for his body, his sanity, his magic, his brother and his sister, he feared for the whole of his sister’s family. He feared for Benjy Fenwick. War was like a very contagious illness with no vaccine, and Gideon was powerless in trying to prevent the spread of the disease in himself, he already had it, probably had always had it. He was very drawn to the idea of redemption, though, maybe it could be had if he could save his nearest and dearest from catching the same thing he suffered from. 

“… I simply can’t believe they broke into _Pure Magic_ ’s headquarters. We all know Black’s a loose cannon, but Potter as well! And apparently, if I’m to believe Potter (and why should I, after this?), it was Potter who got the location, and Potter who decided they would go in just the two of them. Without a plan, and of course they had no idea what to look for. I doubt they’ve read half of my reports anyway, but everyone including those two gits knows that I’m the one in charge of gathering information about _Pure Magic_! I’m the first person Potter should have thought of, but does he come to me? No! He calls for his worse half, or sordid lover or whatever they are to each other. He gets Black, and Black cannot be trusted in these situations! They are beyond lucky there were only two opponents once they were apprehended. But now that they’ve been caught in the act, no one else will ever be able to break in, they will up the security and there will be no more chances for me to get any information from there. They’ve ruined everything! And for what?”

Here, Benjy got his breath back while he stared down first Fabian and then Gideon. Gideon’s heart did a little backflip when he met Benjy’s intense, demanding stare.

“They found out Skeeter works for both the _Prophet_ and _Pure Magic_ ,” concluded Fabian.

“Exactly!” said Benjy triumphantly. “And that makes no sense whatsoever, Skeeter is the human equivalent of toxic waste, we all know that, but she is one of the few at the _Prophet_ who is actively calling Death Eaters out on what they’re doing, even though her reports are muddled up and she pads every article with sensationalist rubbish. But she still has the guts to write about Death Eater activity and call it by that name. Hence, she can’t be working for _Pure Magic_ , who is unapologetically pro-Death Eater activity while it simultaneously does its utmost to disguise that such an organisation exists. Skeeter can’t do both, that would be insanity. Potter and Black must have gotten their facts messed up. I know they’re supposed to be intelligent, but at this stage I have more proof to the opposite. And even if they have certain skills, they obviously aren’t cut out for demanding field operations such as this. They were hired as cannon fodder, as far as I can tell, and that’s what they need to remain.”

Gideon shivered violently at this; did that mean himself and Fabian were cannon fodder too? The twins were usually paired off with Sirius and James on missions. Sometimes Benjy got so wrapped up in his own agenda that he said too much.

“This is what comes from letting newly graduated youngsters join a prestigious organisation such as the Order of the Phoenix,” Benjy continued, and yet again Gideon felt the need to object. The twins and Benjy were only a few years older than the new recruits. Fabian was giving Benjy a soothing and compassionate smile, however, and so Gideon didn’t pass comment. Fabian was the people person, it was better to let him calm Benjy down first. 

“Do you think the muggle pictures James says he has can be useful?” Fabian asked.

“I doubt they will develop properly,” Benjy said darkly, but something softened around his mouth all the same. Benjy was very fond of muggle gadgets, Gideon knew. Clearly Fabian had remembered that, too. “Muggle photographs do work to some extent, they don’t move as you may know, but they do record snapshots in time. There would have been a lot of magical interference, however, and I think it’s unlikely that the photos will develop like they would in a muggle setting.”

“We’ll hear more tonight at the Order meeting”, Gideon said and looked down at his battered wristwatch. “Which is starting in just half an hour, should we make our way there?”

“Ah yes,” Benjy said begrudgingly. It was plain that he would have liked to continue complaining, but the Order always came first in Benjy’s book. 

“It’s at Vance’s place again,” said Fabian and clapped Benjy comfortingly on the shoulder. “Moody will be furious with those boys at the meeting, we’ll want front row seats. Let’s go.”

They arrived through the floo in Emmeline Vance’s immaculate sitting room. Fabian nudged Gideon before he had dragged too much ash onto her plush carpet and he dutifully vanished the soot from his clothes. Moody arrived shortly afterwards in a huff, much as predicted, with a face-full of new and ugly scars. It didn’t help their case that James and Sirius both arrived late, together with Lily and Remus. Sirius was laughing in a loud and undignified way at something James had said, and both appeared supremely unaware of how both Moody and Benjy were glaring daggers at them as they shuffled towards the last remaining seats in the corner.

“I’m glad you could make it on time,” began Moody venomously as soon as they were seated. “I’d like to hear what the two of you have to say for yourselves, do tell your fellow members what foolhardy mission you went on last night?”

James and Sirius shared a quick look, and then James unsurprisingly took the lead.

“We broke into the offices of _Pure Magic_ ,” he explained without further ado and mostly keeping a straight face. Sirius looked rather smug, and Gideon felt a familiar tug of attraction mingled with repulsion. He turned his eyes to Benjy instead, and for a second he was overcome by something much more satisfying. But all too soon reality returned.

There were many loud intakes of breath and Dedalus Diggle squeaked out a “Really?”

“I was offered the location and the password for the door by a contact of ours,” James continued, with the look of someone who was phrasing himself with unaccustomed care. He was immediately interrupted by Benjy.

“Who is that contact?”

“I can’t tell you, but it’s someone Sirius and myself are acquainted with,” said James.

“I’ll need to know who it is,” Benjy cut in, but both James and Sirius shook their heads.

“We agreed last time that some things need to be kept quiet, its for everyone’s safety”, said Sirius, not bothering to hide his glee. Gideon was annoyed with himself for almost agreeing with Sirius; if there was someone who was passing information to the outside amongst them it obviously wasn’t safe to divulge who the informant was, it could even be a Death Eater as Sirius did have some unfortunate connections. But they should really tell Benjy who it was, although Gideon could tell that wasn’t about to happen. It was a shame Sirius and Benjy didn’t much like each other. This informant would no doubt have been extremely useful for Benjy.

“We went there last night, and we got in successfully,” continued James loudly, as Benjy was whispering angrily in Sirius’s direction, presumably trying to pry information out of him. “There were three desks there, so we’re thinking there’re three principal journalists behind _Pure Magic_. There were two main items of interest we got last night. The first one was a wall of photographs of us.”

Here a worried mumbling spread through the Order, and Gideon’s interest was piqued, too.

“They did not have photos of Remus, Peter, Ms Vance, Mrs Jones, Mr Diggle and Aberforth Dumbledore. There were also photos of other people than us, people they dislike and write horrible stories on. We took down all the photos except one each of me and Sirius.” As he spoke, Sirius had retrieved a stack of large photographs from a canvas bag and leant over Remus and Peter to give them to Moody. Moody shuffled through them quickly and angrily, stopping to read occasionally. Gideon could see most of the pictures from his seat, and it appeared some of them had writing on them in red ink. 

“What did you leave?” asked Emmeline Vance, who was ordering around a teapot which was refilling cups for her guests.

“Just a couple of lovely mugshots of myself and James,” answered Sirius with a flirtatious smile in her direction. “We changed the names they’d come up with for us. Thought it would be best for them to know who broke in, since we weren’t that subtle about our visit.”

“Stupid boys,” muttered Moody, but he didn’t sound quite as angry now. He didn’t pass around the photographs, either.

“Yes, well, their names for myself and Sirius are Bloodtraitors number 1 and number 2,” James continued proudly, “we took some muggle photos of the room and the picture wall before we tore it apart, Lily is developing them at home. And we looked through their desks, as well. There wasn’t much. We took some papers, but it doesn’t seem as if any of it was very important. The second thing we found, though, was a letter addressed to that Skeeter woman. As far as we can tell, it means she’s working for _Pure Magic_ as well as for the _Prophet_.”

“I don’t see how that can be right,” said Benjy immediately. “She’s only after writing sensationalist stories, that much is true, but she wants to get her name in the paper and _Pure Magic_ is written anonymously. She also isn’t much of a pureblood fanatic, she’s still writing scathingly about the Death Eaters, and she doesn’t seem to favour the old families in what she writes.”

Many Order members nodded in acknowledgement at this, but many also looked confused. Gideon wasn’t sure what to think himself, but mostly he didn’t care. What was it to him if an awful journalist was even more crooked than they already thought she was?

“Yes, it’s conflicting, and will require more research on our part,” Moody summarized. “And then the two of you were apprehended and had to fight your way out, is that correct? Did you see who they were?”

James and Sirius both shook their heads.

“Potter and Black, you need to have better judgement next time you’re faced with this sort of situation. It could have ended very badly indeed. I’m glad you got the photographs back, however. Our worst fears have been confirmed, they know almost all of us both by name and by what we look like. We can without doubt assume that the Death Eaters know just as much as these journalists, and probably more. I want you to report directly to me if you get more information from this informant of yours, no branching out on your own like this from now on.”

“There’s one more thing I found out from that informant,” said Sirius suddenly, and James turned to him questioningly. “The wards the Death Eaters use, they have something to do with the Dark Mark. You have to be branded to be able to walk through their wards.”

“Really?” piped up Diggle, astonishment written all over his face. “That would be an incredibly complex bit of magic!”

“Yeah, I think if you try to walk through their wards without the mark, you get hit by magical lightning and most likely die,” said Sirius. “That’s all I know about it, though.” James clapped him on the back, looking very surprised, as did everyone else that Gideon noted.

“Black, are you aware that you were seen coming out from the house of two women who are sisters of a Death Eater?” asked Benjy, his voice carrying easily over the excited murmur about the breakthrough with the wards. Marlene hit him quickly on the arm, as if he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to say. Sirius didn’t blush, but he did not look happy with the question. 

“What’s this?” grunted Moody, whose expression very quickly changed from mildly impressed to livid. 

“Maybe it was Stubby Boardman, from the Hobgoblins, you know?” said Lily unexpectedly. She was frowning at her fiancé and his best friend, who were staring at each other and apparently attempting a bit of silent communication. “Sirius looks a bit like him, I remember some girls at Hogwarts commenting on that.”

Benjy snorted derisively, but it drew laughter from most of the rest of the Order. 

“Which Death Eater?” asked Moody of Benjy, but he did it quietly and Gideon didn’t think anyone else, except Marlene, heard it.

“Corban Yaxley,” replied Benjy. “He has two sisters in their twenties, live in Knockturn Alley. As a matter of fact, there’s a rumour going around that he’s gone missing. Same as Black’s brother.” Benjy gave Moody a significant look, but Gideon was no good at understanding what other people said with animated eyebrows and fierce looks. Surely Benjy didn’t suspect that Sirius was working together with the Death Eaters?


	38. You said it was love, I got what I need' to get by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Painted by Numbers" by the Sounds.

“James and Sirius were so stupid”, said Marlene confidently. “Going on a big mission like that without clearing it properly with Moody, what were they thinking? And then Sirius doing the walk of shame in the middle of the day and in Knockturn Alley of all places, dressed like a muggle! Of course nobody believes for a second he’s working together with the Death Eaters, he just slept with the wrong person for Merlin’s sake. But it doesn’t look good, and as far as Moody’s concerned, he’ll be in the doghouse from now on.”

“That joke hasn’t been funny since fifth year,” snapped Peter.

“It wasn’t a joke, love” retorted Marlene, annoyed with Peter’s abysmal conversational skills, which made every topic of conversation revert to his school days. Remus and Peter were staring at each other as though they had been caught out on something, and Marlene sighed exasperatedly, struggling more than usually to retrieve her good mood. Some people were simply bad conversationalists, she reminded herself. 

“Was it you who saw him?” asked Remus, a knowing glint in his eye.

“My parents did,” said Marlene, blushing a little. She did not enjoy the experience of being a nark, especially when it came to romantic liaisons. She had told Benjy the story in confidence, but he had somehow decided that it needed to be made public. “It was right outside the apothecary, he came out of the house the Yaxley sisters live in, looking rather dishevelled, as they put it. My parents would recognize him, he came to our house a few times in third year, and then he was all over the newspapers when he ran away. Anyway, they know him quite well, so I don’t see how it could have been that singer from the Hobgoblins.”

Remus grinned a little at this, and Peter appeared lost in thought. Marlene put on her kindest smile and tried to convey that she did know that Sirius wasn’t a bad sort. Benjy hated him, but Benjy was of a jealous persuasion, and he had been extra protective of her since she had gotten injured in the big fight in Hogsmeade. Truth be told, Marlene had rather enjoyed his jealousy in the past. He was jealous when she went out on missions alone with Peter, and he had been jealous when she defended Sirius. Marlene had gotten a kick out of his anger, which she had learnt inevitably lead to amazing sex. She hadn’t meant for him to actually try to use this against Sirius at an Order meeting, though. 

“Do you need any help with wards or closing the floo network, Marlene?” asked Remus. 

“No I’m good,” she responded, a little too quickly. Closing off the house would have been fine if it was just her living there, but it was her parents house, and they would not appreciate the extra work that would come from living in a protected house. She just hoped Moody wouldn’t check they had all followed orders.

“So where are we, anyway?” she asked brightly, trying to think only happy thoughts. They had apparated into an expensive part of London, she could tell that much, but she hadn’t spent any significant amount of time anywhere besides Diagon Alley to be able to discern different neighbourhoods. 

“We’re in Chelsea, the Lestrange’s live along here,” said Peter, suddenly pushing his chest out and looking important. “We fought them right outside their house just before New Year’s, isn’t that right Remus?”

“Well, we didn’t get to fight very much,” Remus corrected carefully. He was looking rather less than thrilled for some reason. Moody had ordered Remus to come with her and Peter on their scouting missions from now on, probably an attempt to placate Marlene after she’d complained about Peter. Everyone got along with Remus, and Moody would likely have noticed that by now. 

“Sirius sent some spells at them, and they tried to hex him before they apparated. You and I were too slow to join the action as I remember it. We both need to practice.” Remus added the last bit in his kindest voice. Had it come from anybody else, Marlene thought, it would have sounded patronizing. “Lily and James jumped in the Thames, though, saved some muggles that Bellatrix Lestrange had her eye on. Right by that pier,” said Remus and pointed vaguely behind them. 

“Sounds like a good night,” Marlene said. “And we think the Death Eaters might be meeting here tonight?”

“Well, it’s usually on a Friday or Saturday they meet. I think it’s an educated guess on somebody’s part that it’ll be here, probably Moody’s,” said Remus. 

“Looks like there’s a little alleyway over there, should we hide in there?” asked Peter.

“Yes, let’s go there,” said Marlene, overriding Remus who had started to say it didn’t look like a good place to hide. She smiled brilliantly at him and tried to keep the condescension out of her voice as she said: “I know this is your first mission like this, but you’ll soon get the hang of it. Alleys make decent hiding places.” Marlene lead the way and found it to be perfectly secluded and empty of people. She did the disillusionment charms for all of them as she rightly judged that the other two weren’t all that good at them. Remus seemed extremely uneasy, she wondered briefly if he found it difficult to have a woman help him out, but she thought she should have noticed that before if that was the case. He was good friends with Lily, after all. Peter was staring intently at one of the plant arrangements in the little alley. There were several posh ones with early spring flowers (they were in a rather wealthy part of London, after all), but he seemed to be focused on something ugly and out of place that had died some time ago by the looks of it. 

“Does that look like a hand to you?” whispered Peter, and Marlene thought about ignoring him at first, but it wasn’t as if they had anything more important to do. There certainly weren’t any Death Eaters in sight. She turned her eyes to the dead plant but didn’t think it looked remotely like a hand. She was just about to tell Peter as much, when the oddly shaped pot it was in caught her eye. It looked more like a man-sized and uneven urn than a flowerpot, it certainly didn’t match the other pots in the alleyway. And there was something that looked awfully like a human hand on it, as if the cast of a real hand had been made in clay and incorporated as a decorative element on the surface of the pot. Except it wasn’t remotely decorative. 

Marlene shivered a little, a similar feeling to that of being disillusioned hitting the back of her neck. She gathered her inner Gryffindor courage and moved over to take a closer look. Peter followed right at her heals. 

It looked remarkably like a hand the closer she got to it, a large man’s hand, with a dull ring on one finger. The dead plant smelled strongly of compost, and of something sweet she couldn’t quite place. Marlene touched the hand. She jumped in the air like a startled kneazle, and her heart raced. The hand felt sort of like clay, but it wasn’t very hard. Not as hard as she would have liked, anyway, for your average flowerpot to be. At least the hand wasn’t warm. She fumbled with her wand and could hear Peter whimper behind her. She then realized she had no idea what spell to use, and her wand hovered in mid-air, which looked ridiculous as the rest of her was disillusioned. She settled for “finite incantatem”, which did nothing. Or perhaps the outlines of the hand became a bit clearer, and was that a shoe down there? Marlene’s mind was spinning. She looked helplessly at Peter and Remus, Remus was keeping his distance and neither of the boys looked inclined to help her. She decided to stun the scary plant and used “petrificus totalus” as well for good measure. If it was a man in disguise (what an extraordinary idea), he would at least be incapacitated for the near future. Not that someone transfigured into a dead plant complete with flowerpot was likely to be capable of doing much at all, but it made her feel better. 

The three of them decided that one of them (Peter) would keep an eye on the plant, while the other two peaked out of the alley and looked for Death Eaters. The rest of the evening passed without event, as the plant remained immobile and no Death Eaters showed up outside the Lestrange residence. At the end of the evening, Marlene took it upon herself to send a message to Moody about the suspicious plant, feeling ridiculous as she tried to put their findings into words. She had a bad feeling, though, and clearly that was shared with the other two. Remus barely said a word all evening, and Peter was even more nervous and jumpy than usual.

She got back to her parents’ place late. There were some leftovers waiting for her, and her parents ensured her that they had had a quiet day in the apothecary. They tried to question her on where she’d been, and she was just about to tell them she had been with Benjy when her mum told her he was here, waiting for her in her room. She told them she’d been with Lily instead, although the look they gave each other suggested they didn’t believe her. She had been bedridden for a day after the attack in Hogsmeade, so they knew she had been in the thick of it even though she hadn’t specified if she had been an innocent bystander or part of the defence. They knew better than to push her for an answer, though, as Marlene knew they would hate to have it confirmed that she was in the Order even though they had to have guessed that was the case by now.

She found Benjy in the armchair by her bookshelf. The parchment scrolls on the table beside him suggested he’d brought work with him to stay occupied until she showed up. Her parents believed he did research for a book on the muggle influence on the wizarding media landscape and made little effort to feign interest in his research, which was just as well. He was giving her an annoyed look over the book in front of him, whether for her perceived lateness or because he was in the middle of something interesting was difficult to tell. 

Marlene hiked up her robes and straddled him. He grunted at first but then dropped the book he was holding to accommodate her.

“I don’t believe for a second that it was Stubby Boardman who shagged the Yaxley sisters,” said Benjy. He wasn’t meeting her eye but rather eyeing the sneakoscope on Marlene’s bookshelf darkly, the one that had been a gift from Sirius and Remus. Marlene, who was angling for a shag rather than for discussing old boyfriends with her current one, quelled an annoyed sigh and tried for humour and a gentle stirring of Benjy’s jealous mind instead.

“Me neither, Sirius is much more of a pretty boy than that singer is. My parents remember Sirius from when I used to see him, too, they wouldn’t have made a mistake.” Marlene could feel the muscles in his body tensing in anger and irritation, and she hid a smile in his pine-smelling hair. 

“I don’t like the idea of you and Black together when you were a girl,” Benjy stated. Marlene giggled quietly and sneaked a peak at his frowning face. He was too precious, really. “You were much too young, he shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

“We weren’t that young. Besides, as I remember it, I propositioned him, not the other way around,” Marlene said and grinned at the upset look on his face. “It’s ages ago, if I knew it’d bother you, I wouldn’t have told you.” Benjy gripped her sides more tightly, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“And I don’t like that Pettigrew, he’s not bad news in the same way Black is, but there’s something shifty about him. I don’t think his heart is all in the Order, I mean he didn’t even show up to the fight in Hogsmeade. Everyone else did, but not him.”

Now it was Marlene’s turn to frown. She started undoing the buttons on his robes to occupy herself.

“He’s just not a fighter,” she decided. “If he hadn’t been in Gryffindor, I’d say he was a coward, but that can’t be it. He’s probably just really bad at it, doesn’t know how to defend himself.”

“You shouldn’t make excuses for him,” grumbled Benjy, but he was definitely stirring underneath her. “Anything interesting happen tonight?”

“Not sure,” said Marlene, unwilling to pause in her undressing of him. “I had to send a message to Moody, but it’s probably nothing. It was nice to have Remus there as well as Peter, though, I think that dynamic will work better.”

“Lupin’s a good sort,” agreed Benjy reluctantly, and Marlene tried not to laugh in his face again. He was becoming too attached again, everything was personal, including the things that happened to her. He barely knew the Marauders, and yet he was so eager to pass judgement on them just because she had slept with two of them. He had been very upset with James, too, since the break in at _Pure Magic_ , but it appeared he had refocused the perceived grievances on Sirius and Peter now. 

“You need to shut up and please me,” she told him quietly, and he finally seemed to relax. Not too far gone, then, she thought, and hoped she could keep him around for a little bit longer.


	39. I never, never want to go home, because I haven’t got one anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from The Smith's "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out".

Regulus braced himself for potential death outside of the gates of Malfoy Manor. He was safely hid underneath Potter’s cloak of invisibility, although the notion of safety was a difficult one to rely on in these troubled times. In fact, Regulus doubted very much that he would ever feel safe again. 

He had turned his back on his family and friends by betraying the Dark Lord; there could be no coming back from that. And he’d done too many terrible things to ever be accepted by his brother’s friends and co-conspirators, even though his brother (oddly enough) seemed to have chosen to ignore the bad blood between them. At least he did as much in front of Lupin, but it was doubtful if he would show the same benevolence in front of anyone else. He was also in two minds about the safety of his current living arrangements, living in an unsavoury muggle flat in a rundown neighbourhood with only the protective spells and wards Lupin had been able to provide them with keeping them all safe. It was an unlikely location for anyone to come looking, but Regulus knew very well that Sirius was one of the most sought-after Order fighters with Death Eaters doing their utmost to locate his home, not to mention the efforts of the rest of the Black family who’d all prefer him dead as well. Regulus himself had been trying to find out where his brother lived before he found out about the horcrux. Had he discovered where Sirius lived back then he despaired to think what he may have done with the information. He wanted to think that he was not petty or hateful enough to have actually presented the Death Eaters with that information, but the more time that passed, the less sure he became of what he had been like before the great turnaround. He felt like he was still twisting in mid-air, pummelled with new information and new realizations, trying to steady his beliefs for when he hit solid ground again.

Lupin, being a half-blood, was clearly inferior in his magic to Regulus himself, but Sirius had pointed out to him (scathingly and with his usual lack of tact) that plenty of purebloods were rubbish at complex magic, plenty of Death Eaters too, in fact. Regulus, who had had the dubious pleasure of working alongside Mulciber and Avery (both of whom were closer to pureblood than halfblood, whatever their other shortcomings) could acknowledge that Sirius had a point. But the idea that mudbloods could come even close to Regulus’s own magical abilities was daunting. Sirius kept bringing up the old head girl Evans, who was Potter’s fiancé, and who had, by the sounds of it, been something of a prodigy in potions, and potions was a proper magical subject, unlike, say, herbology or care of magical creatures, which any blundering idiot could do. When it had become known that Evans had been made head girl Regulus along with the rest of his house had assumed that it was on account of a mixture of pity and Dumbledore making a political statement, but according to Sirius the girl had had top marks. Regulus was forced to conclude that it might be possible that someone of no apparent pedigree could have gotten lucky in the genetic lottery, but the whole idea that magical genes, too, were handed out at the luck of a draw was deeply unsettling. He had almost decided to ask Lupin to go to the library for him and acquire some books on genetics. It came without saying that he had read some basics on the subject before, and what he had read had all supported what the Dark Lord and the purist movement preached. He had (perhaps foolishly) mentioned this to Sirius, who had laughed right in his face, that annoying, superior laughter of his, and told him how easy it was to brainwash people, especially young people, with skewed research and skilful rhetoric. Regulus had bitten back his retort (namely that Sirius himself was an excellent example of that, all it had taken for him had been to befriend Potter back in ‘71) only to find that the seed of doubt that had been sown with the knowledge of the horcruxes had been fertilized rather than squashed and was now thriving in his mind. 

Regulus’s relationship with Lupin was still fraught and talking was kept to a minimum between them, but Regulus thought that a certain bond had been established since he had killed Yaxley. It wasn’t a comfortable or friendly bond, but Lupin had helped him out by hiding the body and had not thrown him out of Sirius’s flat in disgust (Regulus was under no misconceptions when it came to his and Lupin’s respective statuses in Sirius’s mind, his brother would pick Lupin over him). With the number of books that Lupin read, Regulus thought he could have his uses later, too. Regulus had never been excessively academic, he had gotten good grades throughout school but had always preferred being on the quidditch pitch to studying. As far as he could tell Lupin served as a pillar of stability in Sirius’s life, and Sirius appeared to provide Lupin with food and a roof in return. It was an odd trade-off, thought Regulus, but then his brother wasn’t the type who would make it past 20 left to his own devices, impulsive and reckless as he was. 

Regulus fingered nervously at the flawless fabric of the invisibility cloak. It was without a doubt the best one he had ever seen, better than money could buy he wagered. Potter did come from an old family, even if their heritage was sketchier than most, and this was the sort of heirloom that might be passed through a pureblood family. Sirius had been nervous about giving it to him, and Regulus wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t trust Regulus or because he thought it likely that he would be caught and killed, and the cloak be lost to the Death Eaters. But here Regulus was, anyway, hidden underneath said cloak. 

He took out his wand and performed the spells he needed to pass through the wards around the house. There were only two that he could detect, besides the obvious one that only let branded Death Eaters pass. Drawing a last, nervous breath, Regulus stepped through the gates. He passed without any harm coming to him, and he took to the trimmed lawn rather than walking on the loud gravel path that lead to the main building. It was an extravagant building, the type that had been built to impress guests rather than to be comfortable for the inhabitants. Old Abraxas Malfoy and his wife Eternelle still lived there with their son, Lucius. Regulus’s cousin had married Lucius and moved in straight after Hogwarts, and Regulus knew from the family gossip that Narcissa was becoming impatient with her failure at getting pregnant, unlike her older sister Bellatrix she had always been the parental type. Regulus sincerely hoped she would get a child soon, as their immediate family tree was in need of new branches. Sirius and Andromeda had been wiped out, of course, and Bellatrix was highly unlikely to ever go through with a pregnancy (perhaps for the best was the universally held opinion on that, even within the Black family). This left Regulus himself, and he could not imagine a scenario where he got to play happy families. 

Regulus had reached the house, and a homenum revelio later Regulus had learnt that two people were on the second floor of the house. There would be a house elf or two, as well, and they could be anywhere. It would be of the utmost importance that Regulus remain quiet and unseen. Safely in the entrance hall, he made for the grand staircase, but then had to freeze as he could hear footsteps.

Narcissa, the least beautiful but most striking of his cousins, walked carefully down the stairs. She was the same height as him, which made her a little shorter than Bellatrix and Andromeda. She was startlingly colourless where her older sisters were dark and arresting. She also lacked their vitality, the two older sisters had always been loud, aggressive and fought each other for the spotlight. Narcissa, on the other hand, was like the virgin who had been rounded up for sacrifice, a woman immediately recognizable as the tragic would-be heroine who never made it to the end of the story. She had the same coloured eyes as her sisters and her cousins, though, actually they were identical in colour and shape to Regulus’s own. 

Regulus watched her float past noiselessly and was reminded of Ravenclaw’s house ghost. Her white-blonde hair was loose and reached her waist, and she was wearing grey robes of ageless elegance. Regulus noted that her left hand was resting on her smooth stomach and he wished that she would get her heart’s desire. 

Seeing Narcissa brought back the shame he felt for having abandoned his mother. Logically, he knew that he was doing her a service by letting her think he was dead. She would never have understood nor supported his decision of turning his back on the Dark Lord, as that meant going against the purist movement. That movement meant everything to his mother, she had supported their cause with her money and she had long sat on a committee that campaigned for keeping pureblood families untainted. Her brother Cygnus, Narcissa’s father, was a renowned Ministry lobbyist for the same cause, it was simply the family philosophy. Everyone agreed that purity of magical blood was what the Black’s stood for, what they would always support and fight for. Everyone except Sirius and Andromeda, although Andromeda had been gone from the family for so long that nobody really remembered her anymore. She had faded into obscurity, whereas Sirius had not. Sirius was too recent, had been too painful as there had been so many expectations on him. And, although Regulus still tried to sugar-coat it in his memories, their mother was partly at fault as she hadn’t let anyone forget about it. She had never been completely stable, but something important had snapped in her when her firstborn cut his ties with the family. The memory of him became an obsession with her, something she had an uncurbable need to, in the darkest of terms, reminisce about during every conversation she held. She never asked what became of him after he ran away, Regulus doubted she knew he had moved in with the Potters, he thought it was completely possible she did not know that he was still alive. Their mother simply acted as if he had stopped existing on Christmas Day in 1975, and as if everything he had ever done before then had been an utter disappointment to her, disappointments that she dwelled endlessly on until most of the family and all her friends deliberately lost touch with her. 

Walburga had always been a unicorn hair’s width removed from delusional, but she had cared about Regulus. He had never given his parents much trouble, and he had been left to his own devices a lot growing up. He had always felt loved, however, as he was without fail rolled out as the example of good behaviour for his unruly older brother, whom his mother had tried to humiliate into a better son and his father had tried to beat into submission. Once Sirius left, Regulus thought their parents must have noticed they had failed, although they never admitted it. Orion became withdrawn, especially with his wife and son, and Walburga’s brain would endlessly rehash two themes; Sirius and blood purity. Regulus was left with Kreacher looking after him at home and Bellatrix increasingly requesting he join her friends to “make alliances”, as she had put it at the time. Very occasionally (for he was usually well-behaved), one of his parents would catch him doing or saying something they did not approve of, and then they would snap out of it and tell him off. 

Regulus felt that he had been on his own for a very long time.

And then his father had died. It had been a meaningless death unfitting his public image, but strangely compliant with the man he had been since his oldest child slipped from his grasp. Regulus had snuck the copy of the healer’s post mortem report out of his mother’s grasp as she had passed out in the drawing room and so he knew it had been an accident. Nobody had tried to kill his father. His mother had twisted it into something else, and the few people who still tried to have conversations with her had been happy to agree with her assessment of her husband’s death. Enemies of the purist movement were to blame for it, it was the only thing that made sense.

Regulus wondered how she was doing now. She hadn’t really spoken to him the days he had been at home after his father’s death. He had been preoccupied and she had made no attempts to acknowledge his existence. He had heard her ordering Kreacher around, demanding he tell Orion to come to her dressing room for a drink, or that Kreacher bring her every book from the library whose author’s first name started with the letter “Z”. In her more lucid moments she had lamented the fact that there had been no portrait painted of her late husband, and that she needed to have her portrait painted before the mudbloods and the bloodtraitors came to kill her, too. 

Regulus snuck upstairs noiselessly, wand securely in hand. He was looking for the office, but since it was not a room he had ever entered before, he had no luck finding it in such a massive house. He found the nursery and a drawing room, both of which he looked through as thoroughly as he dared. He had to remain silent, after all. He could feel no pull of dark magic in either room. Next he found some unused bedrooms which were unsurprisingly devoid of anything interesting. He was half-way through the fifth one when the skull on his arm burnt viciously, taking him unawares. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to prevent any noise escaping, but he still winced at the rustle he thought his robes made at the sudden arm movement. The Dark Mark had burnt twice after he had gone to the cave, and the compulsion he felt at apparating, at answering the summons of the Dark Lord, was still sickening. He tried two more rooms once he had calmed down, but he quickly decided to call it a night as he was too nervy now, worried that the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters would somehow come here. He wondered if they had found out about Yaxley’s murder, Lupin had told him that the Order had discovered the transfigured body already. Regulus wondered if he had done the memory charm on Rabastan Lestrange well enough. 

He got back to Sirius’s flat without mishap. The flat was empty, as Sirius and Lupin had been invited to the Potters for dinner. Regulus dutifully folded and put the invisibility cloak on Sirius’s bed to remind his brother that he could be trusted and wasn’t a complete fuck-up. Lupin’s door was charmed shut, and Remus wasn’t tempted enough to try and sneak in. He still thought that the flat was beneath a Black to inhabit, but it did have a calming effect on him, even now that they were harbouring horcruxes. If the Death Eaters hadn’t found the flat so far (and Regulus himself had been their best researcher), it was unlikely that they ever would. 

Sirius had apparently gone grocery shopping earlier, because the muggle icebox was filled with an eclectic mix; Regulus spotted some tiny red and white blobs from the vegetable world, green peppers, kidney beans, a whole fish, brown sugar and seven packages of powdered mashed potato. That would take some effort between the three of them to charm into a meal. Sirius had also restocked on the alcohol, which he was having to do more than once a week now that there were three of them in the flat. Regulus didn’t think he would be able to sleep at all if he didn’t drink before bed every evening, and he didn’t see any reason to try to go without. 

He took some elf-made wine and went to look at the collections of photographs on the mantelpiece. He was trying not to be wistful or envious, it wasn’t as if he had wanted to be friends with Lupin, Potter and Pettigrew. There was a genuine, carefree friendship between the four boys in the photos, and that was what Regulus would have liked for himself. Some of the photos had other people in them as well, he recognized Lily Evans without trouble. There was another young woman, blonde and extraordinarily attractive who took Regulus’s breath away. She was laughing herself silly in the photo, hanging on to Potter’s shoulder for support. There was another woman that he recognized, too, she was in the handsomest frame of them all. Dorcas Meadowes, sitting beside Lupin and both smiling and waving out into the world. There was something knowing, there, in Dorcas’s eyes, as if she was sitting on a great secret. She looked so happy, though, happier than Regulus thought he had ever felt in his life. There were two photographs (if they could be called that) that stood out. They weren’t moving, and therefore muggle. One was of a couple with a baby and one a portrait of just the woman from the picture. Regulus could tell immediately that this was Lupin’s mother, as they looked extraordinarily similar, perhaps even more so than what was common in the Black family. She looked soft, and mild and sweet, but her eyes seemed to twinkle with mirth and good-humour. Regulus was shocked that a muggle photograph could be this descriptive, he felt as if Lupin’s mother was in the room with him, having just introduced herself and cracked a joke about something muggle Regulus wouldn’t understand. 

There were no photos of the Blacks on the mantelpiece, not even uncle Alphard or cousin Andromeda. Sirius grinned at him from many a photograph, even from one with Potter’s parents, who were holding onto him proudly and lovingly in the picture. There was nothing to suggest he had any other parents, or a biological brother. Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew had more than made up for that.


	40. In the madness of the storm I’m the one to carry on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from "Stone Cold Sober" by Paloma Faith.

After the new security measures on the cottage in Godric’s Hollow Lily’s parents hadn’t been able to find it. James had spotted them on the cobbled lane not far from the house, staring confusedly in the wrong direction. He had rushed out to get them, but he had told Lily that it had taken several attempts before he had managed to get them inside of the wards. They were usually quite fond of magic, having gotten used to the odd bouts of accidental magic Lily had performed as a small child. They had seen very little magic since, however, as Lily hadn’t been allowed to do magic during her school holidays. What they knew of magic, therefore, was limited to the wonders of Diagon Alley (they had been fascinated by the animal shop and the apothecary in particular) and watching Lily hosting tea parties for her stuffed animals come alive (they had turned out to be great tea lovers) when she was around six years old. Lily had, completely on purpose, never mentioned the divisions facing wizarding society, or that she was considered vermin by a sizeable minority of the magical population. She therefore felt bad about the trouble they had to undertake to come visit her, and relieved that Petunia and her new husband had declined the invitation (they detested James after all that had transpired on Petunia’s and Vernon’s wedding day, which had involved some wedding cake finding its way into Vernon’s sister’s dress, and a faux magic number with live doves gone wrong). It was her parent’s second time in Godric’s Hollow, which only added to their confusion; they had been perfectly capable of getting there the previous time but now they had become disoriented and vaguely nauseous when attempting to find the correct house. Lily wasn’t sure what ward had that particular effect on muggles, but come to think of it she had noticed that most of the inhabitants of Godric’s Hollow had started to take wide berths around their property.

Fleamont and Euphemia (whose names never failed to amuse Lily), had flooed into Bathilda Bagshot’s cottage (it seemed Fleamont’s father had been a contemporary of miss Bagshot’s, and spent time with her in his youth. Lily sensed there had been a youthful romance there), as their floo was shut and bolted to all visitors. James’s parents had then walked to their cottage and been able to find it without issue. This had been the case for all their magical friends and family, and they still needed to test out what happened if someone magical they weren’t friends with tried to call on them. If they had performed Remus’s wards successfully, the cottage should be invisible to anyone who didn’t know them personally. 

Luncheon with the parents had gone well enough. Lily’s parents were shy as a rule, and with the interference of muggle repelling magic they had been very quiet. Fleamont was a bit of a doddering old fool, obsessed with fantastical magical experiments that rarely had any practical uses, and oblivious to most everything else. Euphemia was very much the brains of the operation, and Lily thought of her as a kindred spirit. The two of them had carried most of the conversation that afternoon, talking about magical and muggle plants, the rugby cup (Lily was still unsure how Euphemia had cultivated an interest in Scottish rugby, but she did her best to discuss the sport with her future mother-in-law), the failure that was the _Daily Prophet_ (Euphemia spoke warmly of her friend Isolde Bones, another powerful witch who was becoming a mother late in life, much like Euphemia herself) and a recent trip Euphemia and Fleamont had undertaken to the Hermitage in St Petersburg (Lily was not altogether shocked to hear that there was a hidden floor in between the first and the second floor of the palace that contained magical artworks and was open only to witches and wizards). Freya had also taken an instant liking to Euphemia, and spent a blissful half-hour filled with constant purring in her lap. Lily did get to discuss potions with Fleamont as well, but his mind was firmly stuck in some theoretical whimsy of his own, and it was clear that he did not have the tools to explain his thought process to anyone else. 

All four (or perhaps not Fleamont) seemed eager enough to help with wedding arrangements, which was a relief to Lily. She had never been to a magical wedding, and James had never been to a muggle one, and they could as well have been planning two different events, there seemed to be that little crossover between their respective visions. Lily agreed happily to meet with her mother and Euphemia for high tea at Fortnum and Masons the following week, Euphemia told her that there was a small tea salon there that only Queen Victoria had used which now was exclusively in the use of the magical community, and Euphemia thought this would be an excellent place to coordinate their wedding plans. 

Sunday arrived with Lily looking forward to having something other than the wedding and the Order to think about. Remus, Sirius and Peter arrived almost on time, and she had filled the table with all the hallmarks of a traditional Sunday roast for them. 

“Are we in the presence of Sirius or Stubby Boardman tonight?” asked James as he handed Sirius a drink.

“I’ve been told by reliable sources that Boardman’s animagus form is, in fact, a pygmypuff,” said Sirius. “So that would be one way of finding out.”

“Is that why women say shagging you is like shagging a pygmypuff?” asked Lily gravely. “Because I remember both Marlene McKinnon and Roberta Hopkirk mentioning a pink, furry thing when they talked about you.”

“That’s disgusting Evans, suggesting McKinnon or Hopkirk would stoop to bestiality”, protested Sirius loudly over the laughter from the others.

“But you stooped to shagging Death Eaters?” asked Peter, a hard glint in his eye that Lily hadn’t spotted before.

“I was trying to get information,” said Sirius uncomfortably, “it didn’t quite work out. And she’s not a Death Eater, no Dark Mark at least. She’s set to marry Rabastan Lestrange, so I thought she might know stuff, or have something of interest at home.”

“And around the same time her brother turned up as a transfigured corpse,” said Peter, perhaps a bit louder than he normally would have talked. Remus twitched unhappily, and Lily wondered what Yaxley’s corpse had looked like. 

“Around from Bellatrix’s house, yeah,” said Sirius. “Maybe she got tired of shagging him.”

“And she’s no pygmypuff,” said James goodhumoredly, skilfully cutting through the tension building up. “Nobody blames you for hooking up with someone with dodgy relatives, seeing as you’re a former Black yourself.”

“I could branch out to all the horrible people,” mused Sirius thoughtfully. “I’m sure everyone wants a taste of my pygmypuff. What if I got off with that Skeeter woman next, could try to feed her some misinformation about the Order and provide her with the names of some real bloody Death Eaters, yeah?”

James was the only one who laughed at that, Lily felt herself shudder involuntarily at the thought of the spiteful journalist who was trying so hard to make their lives difficult.

“That’s not actually funny,” was Peter’s comment, and Remus, who had been more quiet than usual, shared a dark look with Lily. 

“Change of subject, I reckon,” said James quickly as his lonely laughter died out, “we need to plan a good prank on Flourish and Blotts. Moony’s been out of there for long enough now that they can’t connect a prank to us anymore, and we can’t let them get away with firing a Marauder for no good reason like they did.”

Remus blushed and looked uncomfortable, but Sirius and Peter seemed to reconnect over the prospect of joining forces in this familiar way. Lily lead Remus to the table and they all tucked in.

“Are you quite sure you haven’t grown out of the pranking phase?” asked Lily and received a grateful smile from Remus. 

“Absolutely not, why would we stop doing something we excel at?” asked James.

“It’s not necessarily a young man’s game, either. The one person to ever best us at pranking is Dumbledore. He made James head boy, remember?”

“Vividly,” responded Lily. She would probably never have given James a chance if she hadn’t gotten to know him anew spending time with him during seventh year when she had been head girl. 

For dessert Lily served something she had named Hogwarts Coffee, which was a lot like Irish Coffee, but with Firewhisky and rather more cinnamon than what was strictly necessary. It was Lily’s favourite alcoholic beverage next to Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur, which was something she’d not managed to convert anyone but James into liking. They all liked Hogwarts Coffee, though.

“Remus, do you have a minute?” asked Lily as the boys started charming the dishes clean after the meal. Remus nodded and followed Lily into the front room. The fire still crackled merrily, and Freya was lying on her back in front of the fire, paws stretched out and tail not so much as twitching. 

“I’ve got some questions,” Lily said, trying to stay calm. There had been so many suspicious incidents that she didn’t even know where to start. Remus was one of her and James’s best friends, and yet… “Firstly, what exactly is the mission Dumbledore is sending you on?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Remus promptly. Lily raised her eyebrows and wondered if she should wait him out. She was certain James had said that Remus had gotten a new mission from Dumbledore, and there must be a reason why he had been so busy since losing his job. Lily knew for a fact that Remus had only joined Peter and Marlene on their Order missions once thus far.

“What about finding another job? You used to be obsessed about contributing to society, paying your own way in the world and all that. I haven’t heard you complain once about losing your job, and I’m getting the impression you’re not even looking for a new one?”

Remus said nothing, but she could tell he was blushing. 

“You’ve been borrowing the cloak of invisibility for weeks now,” Lily continued, determined to get something out of him. James had mentioned that the cloak had been with Remus and Sirius a lot recently, and after some gentle prodding Lily had discovered that James didn’t know what they were using it for, beyond some vague comment by Sirius that Remus had needed it for a new mission.

“I can’t talk about that, I’m afraid.” 

“The next question I have is about the night we discovered Dorcas’s body. You stole a scroll of parchment from her flat. What was it?”

Remus stared thoughtfully into the fire. Freya’s softly bent paws twitched as if she thought she was running, hunting for mice in her dreams perhaps. Lily was starting to feel nervous now. She had been convinced that Remus would have legitimate answers for her, she hadn’t for a moment expected to find actual guilt in his features. What was she to make of this?

“And the Polyjuice?” she continued quietly. Remus shuddered a little despite the fire. “The only two people who came around our house at the time it disappeared was you and Sirius. One of you must have stolen rather a large quantity from me.”

“I can’t tell you,” said Remus unhappily to the fire. 

“We’re at war! This isn’t some schoolboy prank where you can just sneak around stealing and hiding things and expect to get away with it. There’s already talk of a traitor in the Order, and…” Here Lily broke off, overcome with emotion. Remus had gone white as a sheet in the warm firelight. Lily wanted to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this disappointed in someone, nor this scared. Everything depended on trust, and here was someone she needed to trust unconditionally, raking up doubts around himself, digging a hole. What for? Remus wasn’t a traitor, Lily knew that in her heart. James trusted him with his life, Moony meant the world to James and to the other Marauders. But how could Lily trust Remus if he refused to explain himself to her when called out?

“Moony, are you seducing my fiancé?” 

Lily was grateful she wasn’t facing James, as she was finding it hard to keep herself from crying from frustration. Remus gave a small smile over Lily’s head.

“We need to plan our birthdays,” continued James. “Yours is coming up next week, and I was thinking we could celebrate mine at the same time?”

“Sure,” agreed Remus quietly.

“Good. We’ll do it in your flat, if that’s alright with you? Lily’s already offered to make the food and the cake, and we’ll let Sirius take care of the alcohol.”

“Are you ok with that?” asked Remus of Lily, the tiniest hint of an edge to his voice. He looked her straight in the eye, however, and Lily thought there was an almost palpable apology in there. 

“Of course,” she said straight away, piecing herself back together. “Next Saturday?” It would give her a chance to ask him more questions, if nothing else. Hopefully he’d come to his senses and tell her what was going on, clearly it was something he was ashamed of, but Lily was certain it would be better for him too to have a confidant than to keep quiet. It was clear that James knew nothing about it, and she was the only one who had seen Remus steal the parchment from Dorcas, which lead her to believe that Sirius and Peter didn’t know about it either. Why Remus would be ashamed of having had a relationship with Dorcas was beyond her, however. The other alternative was that it was something bad or illegal that Remus was involved in. But Lily couldn’t see how that could be possible, Remus didn’t have a traitorous bone in his body and in her experience, he was as honest as they came. That couldn’t be right, it had to be a secret romance or a weird mission from Dumbledore. Still, Lily couldn’t quite make either solution fit all the pieces of the puzzle.


	41. You made me forget myself, I thought I was someone else, someone good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Lou Reed's "Perfect Day".

Remus wanted to be sick even before he sat down behind Sirius on the motorbike. Lily suspected him, and there was nothing he could tell her to soothe her suspicious mind. She was right, Lily was always right, that was the one rule that seemed to hold in his adult life. He was hiding the existence of horcruxes from his friends and from the Order, and he was hiding Regulus Black in his own flat. And Lily thought he might be a traitor to the Order, that he was secretly working for the Death Eaters…

Remus gripped Sirius so tightly he could feel the air emptying from his best friend’s lungs as they travelled at breakneck speed somewhere over Berkshire. He could feel his eyes watering, and for once he let something out. He couldn’t cry in his flat, there was an escaped Death Eater there. Lily meant the world to him, just like each of the Marauders did. She had entered all their hearts with the speed and accuracy of a centaur’s arrow, become one of their group just before they embarked on their new grown-up lives, and now she was doubting his allegiances. And if she was doubting him, then maybe James was, too. What he let out could only be described as a howl of misery, after which he felt Sirius’s gloved hand grasping his arm in a clumsy attempt at comfort. He didn’t turn around and try to look at Remus, and for that he was more grateful than he could say. 

When they landed in the dank alley behind their block of flats, much more smoothly than the usual when Sirius was driving, Remus was once again master of his face and of his emotions, and he stood perfectly still looking deceptively relaxed as Sirius performed the usual anti-theft spells and disillusionments over the bike, occasionally sneaking a furtive look at Remus as if to check he hadn’t collapsed to the ground in grief or misery. 

“You alright Moony?” he asked nervously as they walked, side by side, through the deserted entrance hall of their block of flats. 

“Lily is on to me,” Remus explained, not managing to hold Sirius’s gaze for more than a second. There was so much worry and love in those familiar eyes, grey and striking like uncut diamonds, and he didn’t feel like he deserved it. 

“What did she say to you?”

“Remember the parchment Dorcas wrote to Regulus on? The one I took from Dorcas’s room the night we found her dead. It appears Lily saw me take it. I’m no good at coming up with stories on the spot, I couldn’t think of an explanation for it. She asked me other questions I couldn’t answer as well, and of course it all sounded incriminating. She’ll think I’m a…” Remus felt his voice quivering dangerously and closed his mouth before it broke. 

“Oh Moony,” Sirius said, still softly, but the worry was gone. He sounded almost… Remus looked up confusedly. Sirius was smiling. The absolute git. Remus told Sirius as much, which only made him laugh.

“Lily’s smart, probably smarter than all of us put together,” said Sirius, still smiling in the face of Remus’s obvious distress. “She was always bound to figure out we’re up to something, and once she comes close, we’ll bring her and Prongs into it. Simple as that.”

“We’ve promised your brother not to say anything,” Remus pointed out. 

“Muffliato”, muttered Sirius, wand carelessly swiping over their front door. They had arrived outside the flat. “We’ll have to at some point, and Regulus will have to suck it up when that day comes.” Remus could tell that Sirius had long since began formulating plans to bring his other brother into this and he found that it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

“What if she thinks I’m a traitor right now?”

“Like I said, she’s smart,” said Sirius confidently. “She won’t think you’re a traitor, she’ll know there’s something else behind the sketchiness.”

Remus thought about it as Sirius opened the door and let them in. James was the type who would never believe anything bad of his friends, but he wasn’t as certain about Lily. She was noble, sure, but he didn’t think she had any blind spots. James’s blind spots came in the shape of his reckless best friend and his werewolf next-best friend, in that order. Peter came third, but Remus wasn’t sure what unfortunate description he could be labelled with, as he was riddled with little shortcomings. Then Remus chastised himself for thinking that way, it wasn’t Peter’s fault that there wasn’t more to him. He’d done the best he could with the limited means he had been given. Sometimes Remus wasn’t sure he could say as much about himself.

He was still down as he followed Sirius over the threshold, but the mental crisis had been averted. Sirius knew he wasn’t a traitor, he’d back him up if it all blew up in his face, as it was wont to do in Remus’s life. 

“Any success at the Malfoys’?” asked Sirius as Regulus came into view. He was sitting at the kitchen table with some radishes and a raw fish in front of him on a much too small chopping board. His hand was closed on a large carving knife. Remus had no idea what dish he was preparing, and he doubted Regulus did, either. 

“Not yet,” said Regulus.

“We were given some food to take home from Lily,” said Remus in an attempt to be friendly. The look of distaste on Regulus’s face at the mention of Lily made it difficult, but he figured he had to keep trying. “She’s an excellent cook, you should just try some,” he continued evenly.

“She excels at everything, according to you two,” grumbled Regulus, but he had already started to put the fish and the radishes back in their respective plastic wrappings. 

Remus gave Sirius’s shoulder a cautionary squeeze, and Sirius scowled at him and went off to his bedroom. Remus handed Regulus the leftovers and watched him dish some out and heat the plate up with his wand. “We like her a lot, and not just because she’s with James. She’s very witty and smart, and talented at just about everything, both magic and muggle things. You’d probably like her yourself if you got the chance to meet her properly.”

Regulus kept his back to him while he talked, but then he surprised Remus by getting out two muggle beers from the fridge and bringing them both to the kitchen table, along with his plate. 

“I like these,” he said, and Remus recognized that as a peace offering. He took one and opened it against the scruffy table with a pound of his fist to the cap, the muggle way. Regulus opened his with magic. “Food is good, too,” Regulus continued after barely a mouthful. “I’m not saying muggles or people like Lily Evans are useless all around.”

“Good, because they’re not,” said Remus. “They come in the same variety as you purebloods do, some are weak, or mean, or have no sense of humour. And some are incredibly kind, or intelligent, or know exactly how to make fish and radishes into a gourmet meal.”

“So that’s what those red and white things were?” asked Regulus, crinkling his nose as if remembering the stinging smell of the little vegetables he’d just been handling.

“My Mum used to grow them in Wales when I was a child,” said Remus, remembering the smell of upturned earth and the surprising warmth on your neck of the early June sun. It was strange how easy it was to forget what a hot summers day felt like when you were still living in winter. “Radishes are one of the first vegetables to ripen, most things you harvest in August or September, but radishes are very much a June vegetable.”

“Muggles…” muttered Regulus, but it didn’t sound unfriendly. “How come we can buy them in March, then? Do wizards sell them to muggles so that they can have vegetables all year round?”

“No we don’t,” Remus hastened to say. “Muggles import and export goods from other climate zones via vehicles and boats. Britain has all sorts of trading deals with different countries. And then muggles use greenhouses, just like we do. They use electricity to heat them up and use lamps instead of the sun when needed. It works quite well. We should take you to a really big grocery shop so that you can see their food selection.”

“Alright,” agreed Regulus, not resisting as Remus had expected him to. “But we’ll use transfiguration to alter my appearance, not Polyjuice.”

Remus laughed in agreement, he too felt they’d all had enough of Polyjuice. 

“Did you have any magical plants at all in your garden?” 

“We did, as it happens,” Remus said, diving back into fond memories of his childhood. He’d been an only child with no friends on account of his lycanthropy, which had been very difficult to deal with in the days before his inner werewolf had befriended three animagi. Remus had spent all his time with his cheerful and warm-hearted mother, looked after the house with her and read books and watched her make fragile clay sculptures in her attic studio. He’d never felt lonely then, though, it was only when he started Hogwarts that he realized he’d been missing out on something, namely playing with other children. “My Dad is a wizard, a researcher of dark creatures. He kept grindylows in a pond in our garden, but he also planted some magical flowers and herbs. I remember we had one of those everblooming cactuses, the ones that are as tall as a man with a huge flower on top, but which pins are soft like rubber.”

“And your mother was able to take care of it?”

“She had it for years,” agreed Remus fondly. “It died not a month after she died, though. I didn’t inherit her green thumbs, and my Dad was never interested in plants.”

They sat in companionable silence after that, Regulus eating and Remus drinking and reminiscing. 

The next day Sirius transformed Regulus into a blonde with long hair and whiskers, and Regulus even consented to dress in Sirius’s muggle clothes. Remus listened almost fondly as the brothers bickered about the cut of muggle shirts and what colours went with what, and then they left for the largest nearby Sainsbury’s. They spent a surprisingly happy and carefree afternoon looking through the grocery, which to begin with stunned Regulus into silence, and made Sirius even more energetic than usual. Remus knew that Sirius was still beyond impressed and fascinated with muggle shops, but it was evident that he was trying to seem as if he had Sainsbury’s all figured out and knew where everything was by now, which he didn’t. Remus didn’t think Regulus noticed that, however, as he was too busy taking in the variety and number of products. 

Sirius loved the shopping trolleys perhaps more than the food, and he confided to Remus that he and James planned to break into a grocery shop one of these days to steal one and use it for their own purposes. What these purposes were remained unclear, at least to Remus, although he got a good laugh out of watching Sirius run around with his trolley in the narrow aisles and occasionally jump onto it while it was in motion. It was likely more magic than skilful steering that kept Sirius and the trolley from crashing into pyramids of tinned baked beans and an artistic stand of exotic fruit. After having walked through the whole shop for over an hour just looking without adding anything to the trolley, they spent another hour filling it with a ridiculous selection of everything that caught their eye. Remus thought it was a great shame that none of them knew how to cook.

At the cashier Remus’s conscience got its claws into him in a bad way, and he tried to force his last ten-pound notes into Sirius’s hand. Sirius refused them, carelessly revealing a garish purple muggle wallet, fat with muggle money, to Remus and to the cashier, whose eyes went rather big at the flagrant display of wealth. Remus could feel Regulus watching the scene with judgemental eyes, and he hated every second of it. 

Sirius discreetly charmed the bags to be weightless (there were eight full bags of food, including three pineapples and a sample of every type of chocolate the store had to offer) and they walked back to the flat in silence. Remus’s ears continued to burn with shame.

They had yet another Order meeting scheduled for the evening. They had been very frequent in recent weeks, and Remus wondered vaguely if it was because Moody wanted to keep track of Sirius and James. Those two were clearly invaluable to the Order, and worth more than the trouble they caused. But they did cause trouble, there was no denying that, and Moody still seemed to be under the impression that he could teach them to be careful and law-abiding. James had changed a little for Lily, but now that he had her there was no way he’d stoop even lower (by James’s standards, of course, Remus would happily have had him formulate coherent plans and see him eat his carrots like a good boy), no matter how many times Moody reprimanded him. And there was no changing Sirius, of course.

They arrived just on time, but Remus noted that Moody seemed to be waiting for more people even after they had taken their seats in Dedalus Diggle’s sitting room in Kent. Nobody showed up, however, and Moody grumpily started the proceedings. Much as Remus had guessed, James and Sirius were asked by Moody’s snide voice if they had received any further tip-offs about secret Death Eater locations the Order might want to raid. They answered with their sweetest and most innocent smiles that they were sitting on nothing of the sort. Moody told them about an attack he suspected would take place on the underground in the near future and asked them all to keep their ears to the ground. Alice Longbottom had scrolls of parchment that turned out to be schedules for when they were expected to keep a lookout on the tube. 

“What’s the deal with Yaxley’s corpse?” asked Emmeline Vance as personalized schedules zoomed around the room to each Order member.

For the first time ever, Remus thought Moody looked helpless. He spread his arms in a universal sign of confusion, and his normally grumpy face now bore a look that suggested somebody had just asked him to explain why muggle children liked to play on seesaws.

“Any bright ideas, you lot?” he asked. “Yaxley was found in the vicinity of the Lestrange’s house by pure chance. He’d been killed with the killing curse, and then transfigured into a piss-poor rendition of a potted palm tree. The pot was visibly made up from his scrambled extremities, which is how McKinnon, Pettigrew and Lupin spotted him. He had the Dark Mark, but we don’t think he’d been a Death Eater for long, certainly not participated in many battles. The news of his death has come as a complete surprise not just to us, but also to the pureblood community, including the Lestranges. Rodolphus Lestrange wrote a eulogy that was published in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning, suggesting the Death Eaters aren’t behind his death. He was well-liked in their circles, and he hasn’t figured in any scandals or made any enemies that we know of. In short, we have no idea who killed him or why the person who killed him tried to hide his body.”

That was when Benjy Fenwick rushed into the meeting, panting heavily and looking more dishevelled than he likely ever had in his life. He was staring around the room wildly, his eyes focusing in on James for a second, then Peter. Then his eyes found Remus, and his breath hitched dramatically. Remus, who had barely spoken to Benjy Fenwick in his life, stared back, confusion throbbing at his temples. 

“Lupin’s a werewolf!”


	42. It's part not giving in, and part trusting your friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from Gossip's "Standing in the Way of Control".

To his left there was a noise reminiscent of a small animal having its tail trampled on. Peter shielded the sides of his face, not wishing to see Remus’s reaction; hearing it was quite enough. Why Remus couldn’t be more open with his disability Peter would never understand, then they could at least have been spared the amateur dramatics. 

Sirius had jumped out of his chair as soon as Benjy had spat the word “werewolf” out of his mouth, and he had stridden forwards, ready for combat both with his fists and his wand, all of which were raised in front of him in a makeshift intimidation display. James, also a man of action, had grabbed Sirius’s arms before he could do any damage, and there was a short scuffle, complete with inventive swearing and white-hot sparks shooting out of Sirius’s wand. Benjy had his wand in hand, too, but he seemed content to just watch James and Sirius wrestle. Most eyes were on them, and Peter finally lowered his hands to look at Remus. His gentle face was pale and set in deep, fretful lines, eyes intent on the hands in his lap. Lily had moved to sit next to him and was multitasking by hugging him protectively from the side and glaring menacingly at any and all Order members who dared to look at Remus instead of at Sirius and James. 

“Most of us are aware of Lupin’s condition, Fenwick. Everybody sit down.” Moody sounded shook up by the situation. He was also pointing his wand at the struggle in the middle of the room, ready to disarm everyone if need be. James wheeled Sirius around and pushed him back in his chair. Then they both reached around, competing to pat Remus’s hands, and Peter watched them almost longingly. But Remus was surrounded now, no need for Peter to extend his commiserations in public. The werewolf was out of the cage, as it were, no more hiding the Marauders’ greatest secret in present company. 

The air was heavy with fear and confusion, and Peter noticed that most of the Order were choosing to look at Moody rather than at any of the Marauders. Benjy was an exception; he’d sat down at Moody’s request, but he was right next to the door, wand still in hand, and there was malice in his eyes as he watched the statuesque Remus being comforted by his friends. 

“How is this possible, Lupin?” asked Diggle, when Moody appeared to be at a loss for what to say next. “I thought you went to Hogwarts?”

“He did,” spat Sirius immediately, all canine aggression and unnecessary force.

“Were you bitten recently?” asked Marlene, eyes full of sympathy and fright. Peter noted that Benjy was trying to catch her eye now, even discreetly waving her over. She was ignoring him. “After we finished school?”

“No, I was five when I was bitten,” said Remus to the hands in his lap, his own and Sirius’s and James’s. 

“And Dumbledore let you go to Hogwarts?” It was Diggle again, and he sounded shocked.

“Obviously,” muttered Sirius aggressively. 

“I didn’t know children could survive werewolf bites?” asked Hestia Jones. Her round cheeks were bright red and she looked more curious than scared. One of the only ones, Peter noted. Gideon looked as if he was about to faint from the horror of it. Emmeline Vance and Caradoc Dearborn had drawn their wands.

When Remus didn’t respond, Edgar Bones cleared his throat and put on his healer’s voice: “Children don’t usually survive werewolf bites, you’re quite correct, Hestia. Muggles always die from them, and many adult wizards and witches do, too. I can’t recall any instances in the last fifty years of a child surviving the bite, but there are stories of two young sisters in India who did in the 1920’s. You must have been remarkably lucky, Mr Lupin.” 

Peter did not think Remus had been lucky in the slightest; he had no idea how Remus had made it thus far with his twisted dual identity. Sometimes, when he let himself think in a certain way, Peter thought it was mainly because of his own sacrifice, along with Sirius’s and James’s, them becoming animagi and keeping Moony company every full moon, that Remus retained the will to live. And what a morbid way Edgar had of putting it, anyway; luck would never be the right choice of word when talking about getting infected with lycanthropy. Healers were an odd bunch. 

“Rest assured, myself and Dumbledore are well aware of Lupin’s condition,” said Moody again, turning to Benjy, Emmeline and Caradoc in turn. “Lupin’s never harmed anyone, has taken great precautions throughout his life never to do so, and nobody here is in any danger from him.”

Benjy looked mutinous, and he was alternating between shooting Remus and Marlene dirty looks. Marlene was looking at Remus with completely new eyes, there was a caring softness there mingling with soon-to-be-shed tears.

“Who did you hear this from, Fenwick?”

“It was hinted to me by someone associated with the Death Eaters, a contact if you will. I was able to put two and two together.”

“Snape,” muttered James. Sirius nodded and Lily looked even more furious. James was correct as usual, Peter was sure of that. Snape had had to promise Dumbledore never to tell anyone, but it was unlikely that the promise had been magically binding. Not that Peter knew much about that type of magic, but he liked to think he could deduce things as well as anyone. Peter wondered if this counted as final evidence that Snape was a Death Eater, which was something James and Sirius had started saying all the way back in seventh year. Not that Peter knew why the Death Eaters would want Snape in the first place, he struck such a pathetic and awkward figure. But then he had always been good at potions and just as obsessed with dark magic as the rest of the Slytherins in their year had been. 

“I hope I don’t need to stress to everyone that Lupin’s condition is his own personal matter, and not for any of you to disclose to anybody outside of the Order. This information is not public property, and the prejudice surrounding werewolves means revealing it would damage Lupin’s reputation and possibly that of the Order as well.”

Moody then finished the meeting abruptly, although he did ask anyone with questions to stay behind. Peter scurried out of the room as quickly as possible, and he was soon followed by the other Marauders and Lily. Nobody else exited the room, however, and Peter supposed Moody would be forced to hold an extra Order meeting for the others about lycanthropy and about how they could still trust Remus same as before. Peter frowned unhappily. He wondered what the others were saying behind the closed door. He hoped they at least didn’t find him any less trustworthy on account of his friendship with Remus.

Remus made his desire to go home immediately known, and Sirius went with him. James and Lily left soon after. None of his friends asked Peter what his plans for the evening were, but he tried not to let that bother him. He did have plans for the evening, as it happened, and good ones at that. 

The Five Griffins, renowned wizarding pub in York, was quite as busy as it always was. The war (are we really at war?) was the most popular topic of conversation, although everyone appeared equally reluctant to talk about their personal opinions regarding the war as they were to name the different fractions that were rumoured to be fighting it. There were rumours about a tattoo that set the different followers apart, but it didn't seem as if anybody knew for sure. Nobody wanted to say too much or get involved, but there were casualties weekly and that could not be ignored. There were whispers in the pub about someone who, with their own eyes, had seen You-Know-Who on that fateful night when two people had been murdered in their own homes a mere stone’s throw away. Nobody wanted to mention the name of the person who had seen that other person whose name they refused to speak, as there had been so many frightening retaliations lately for perceived slights, the worst of which had ended in murder. It always seemed to happen to the outspoken ones, the ones who dared talk about him and his followers, and nobody in the Five Griffins wanted to condemn one of their fellow brothers or sisters to a brutal surprise ending. The war was spoken of in hushed voices, but nobody knew what to say. The Ministry was useless and couldn’t be trusted, that they could all agree on. But who could be trusted?

The regulars were all in attendance, as were rather a lot of middle-aged witches and wizards stopping by for an after-work pint or for a glimpse of Clothilde, the part-veela great-great-great-granddaughter of the original publican for the establishment. The original owner, known to the locals as ‘Hattie the Arm”, still resided in the pub in ghost form. One glance at her was enough to confirm that the family bloodline had not been enriched with veela blood already in her generation, as her spirit showed her to be a remarkably ugly woman. She was, indeed, missing an arm, but the one she had appeared abnormally long and muscular, even as a ghostly apparition and in a coarse dress from the 18th Century. She lisped heavily through missing front teeth, and she had a large, lined forehead, sunken cheeks and very small eyes, nose and mouth. Although she couldn’t physically pour pints or bring pub grub to her guests anymore, she hung around to tell stories, and was a well-liked ghost in York. 

Clothilde more than made up for her ancestor’s looks, although the Ministry had deemed her not close enough to full-veela to be discouraged to sell goods. Being a veela was a great hazard career-wise, as they were deemed to have an undue advantage of persuasive powers because of their supernatural beauty. Clothilde was lucky, therefore, caught between unusually beautiful and human enough to be allowed to make the living of her choice. Her late father, enthusiastically egged on by Hattie, had instilled in her a passionate pride in the family business, and the establishment had now passed on to her. At least it had on paper, you could argue (and many did) that the pub would never be anyone’s but Hattie the Arm’s. 

Peter was careful not to look too closely at Clothilde (he had learnt by experience that it made him more likely to drool in public) when he ordered his pint of redcurrant cider, and as soon as he had paid he left the bar in search of a table. That’s when he spotted Mary Macdonald, alone at an otherwise empty table, whom he hadn’t seen for six months or more. 

“Mary! You’re looking well. What are you up to these days?”

“Not much, just working in a shop. I’m applying to some universities though, might get a profession in the muggle world.”

“I thought you were working at the Grumpy Bowtruckle?” Peter said, greatly surprised. Come to think of it he couldn’t remember where he had heard that from. Mary looked utterly affronted and spared no time in clueing Peter in on how she wouldn’t be caught dead working in the second seediest bar in the UK (second only to the Hog’s Head, of course).

“But you stopped coming to the… Ah, to the meetings?” Peter said finally, wishing he hadn’t brought up the Grumpy Bowtruckle. Or the Order of the Phoenix, for that matter, it was likely to be another touchy subject. Peter never did have that fabled way with words. He should have talked about Hogwarts instead.

“No, I told Dumbledore I didn’t think it was for me. It’s not easy to be a muggleborn these days, as I’m sure you know, and I didn’t feel like making my family or myself into targets. I don’t know if I made the right choice”, Mary continued defiantly “but I’ve made it so far. Dorcas wasn’t even muggleborn and look what they did to her.”

Peter nodded unhappily and gulped down some cider. Mary had a point, even if Peter privately thought that if he was out there, risking his life fighting for the rights of muggleborns, then the actual muggleborns should be out there fighting too. 

“There’s my date,” he stuttered out next, as he spotted someone moving towards their table.

“Oh really? You’ll have to introduce me,” said Mary curiously, craning her neck to get a better look.


	43. They said the brains I had went to my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Don't Look Back in Anger", by Oasis.

James was so surprised he could have been knocked down by the snitch. Mary Macdonald was back in the Order. Lily hadn’t even heard it first, it was James who had it from Remus, who had heard it from Dumbledore as he was especially summoned and subsequently comforted by the great leader for having been outed in front of the entire Order (James was still fuming about that, Benjy Fenwick was a git of gigantic proportions). Mary’s change of mind was surprising on two levels. Firstly, she was more concerned about her own and her families’ safety than she was about the continued survival of the rest of wizarding society. Secondly, Mary was proud as a hippogriff, and for her to admit she had been wrong was a bit like Dumbledore failing to transfigure a knarl into a pincushion; an all-round unlikely scenario. But apparently, she’d had a change of heart, maybe she had gotten lonely in her muggle refuge. Mary and Lily had been very close throughout their Hogwarts years, and he knew that Lily rarely found time to see friends outside of the Order now that she had left Hogwarts. 

“Do you think Macdonald is attempting to reconnect with us all before the wedding?” asked James as he watched Sirius arrange a neat row of small dungbombs on the floor along the counter in Flourish and Blotts. He was wearing his protective dragonhide gloves, which were a relic of their Hogwarts days and Herbology lessons, in an effort not to get smelly fingers from the setting up of the prank. Sirius wore them in cold weather when he rode his motorbike too, he’d told James they worked better than heating charms when faced with flying through a blizzard at high altitudes and speeds of up to 250 km/h, a personal record that Sirius had set with James wrapped around him and riding the bike somewhere over Bristol. Sirius still insisted on calling the motorcycle Black Beauty, but Remus had recently nicknamed it the Black Plague, and the other Marauders were going with that name for the time being. 

“That’s probably it. Do you think this is good? The cashier is likely to step on at least one of these delightful little aromatic bundles before he spots them, don’t you think?”

“Looks splendid. The prejudiced old book sniffers won’t know what hit them,” agreed James, eyeing the even parade of dungbombs hiding in the shadows. “How’s Moony today?”

“Busying himself with some research, I believe. Dumbledore tried to cheer him up, told him to ride it out until the rest of the Order gets used to his double identity, but as it’s Moony it’s a lost cause of course. Oh, and he’s trying to learn how to cook,” said Sirius with a grimace. 

James grinned at that, thinking anything made in Remus’s and Sirius’s kitchen was unquestionably doomed to either give the diners diarrhoea or be burnt to a crisp. Sirius would no doubt prefer to continue to exist indefinitely on takeout and anything he found in James’s and Lily’s fridge when he stopped by. 

“Bucket of flobberworms and shredded lettuce and tomatoes over the front door, you reckon mate?”

“Absolutely. We’ll have to use the same spell that we used with the massage oil last year, the spell that triggers a tipping motion when it senses a human presence underneath the charmed object.”

“Oh yes, I remember now,” said James fondly and watched Sirius direct the large bucket to come to a rest over the front door of Flourish and Blotts. The only thing that still remained was to put the single, rather dishevelled, copy of “Hairy Snout, Human Heart” (a sympathetic book about werewolves by an anonymous author Remus continued to insist wasn’t him) they had found in the shop and put it on the table of recommended reads. Sirius had wanted to draw pro-werewolf graffiti (a muggle artform if James had understood him correctly, Sirius had been a bit vague in his explanation) all over the shelves and the walls of the shop, but James had put his foot down. They didn’t want to implicate Remus, who wasn’t even aware of the revenge they were taking the liberty of carrying out on his behalf. They left through the window behind the counter, which had opened effortlessly for them with the help of a handy knife Sirius had acquired in Knockturn Alley some years previously. The knife had served them very well at Hogwarts, too, when not even the cleverest of alohomora’s had been enough to keep them out of McGonagall’s office and the potion master’s private storeroom. 

Seated on the stationary Black Plague, they spent a giddy few minutes transfiguring each other’s faces and hair, which quickly escalated into making the other one as ugly as possible. They were not allowed to go to the pub as themselves anymore (a rule James knew Sirius broke weekly, but the two of them out together in the open would be asking for trouble, even Sirius agreed on that, snidely muttering something that sounded like “can’t have Bloodtraitor number 1 walking around undisguised amongst the peasants"), and they were not supposed to use Polyjuice potion if they could avoid it. That was how James ended up walking into the Crystal Ball with luscious, dark red hair, a monocle instead of his glasses, and what resembled a miniature elephant trunk for a nose. Sirius was right behind him sporting indecently large lips, fluffy sideburns and a goatee. They drew some odd looks while they ordered double Firewhiskies (James had a feeling it was his nose more than anything) and moved around the room whilst making easy conversation, trying to spot known or suspected Death Eaters. Moody had told them all to keep their ears to the ground in case they heard anything about the surmised attack on the tube, which the two of them had taken to mean “go out, eavesdrop on scary gits, and get plastered”. 

Evan Rosier, who was a cousin of Sirius’s if James remembered correctly, soon caught their attention. He was muscular and handsome in a blunt way, easy to recognize from a distance, and James thought he remembered Marlene telling him that Rosier was the one who had terrorized her parents’ apothecary. He was sitting with two witches and a wizard, none of whom James recognized. James and Sirius moved closer, pretending to be deep in conversation about quidditch (they had used this same tactic for feigning conversation before, the game was to try to mention as many sexual positions as possible while pretending to describe a quidditch match). 

“Seeing LeMarc from Appleby Arrows put the quaffle in like the missionary he is was deeply satisfying, don’t you think?” said James, starting them off with an easy one as they crammed themselves into two unoccupied seats at the next table over from Rosier.

Sirius rolled his eyes, it was clear that he didn’t think much of James’s opening line. The other occupants of their table, two witches who looked much too young to be in a bar, gave them appraising looks. One of them eyed James’s monocle in confusion, and the other raised an eyebrow as she took in Sirius’s sideburns. 

“I think that one’s boring. The one where Roper had to spoon his broom to get the angle right was way better,” said Sirius, winking at the girl who was looking at his abundance of facial hair. 

James grinned in mock-acknowledgement and leaned backwards to try and catch what the next table were discussing. 

“My family’s loyalty is obviously unaffected by the murder, but myself, my sister and our parents are quite eager to get to the bottom of who killed him,” one of the women was explaining. There was a soothing hum of agreement and understanding coming from the others, and Sirius leaned into James and whispered the name “Celeste Yaxley” into his ear. 

“The whole of the inner circle has been deeply troubled and surprised by it, and I believe I’m correct in saying that even the Dark Lord himself has extended his condolences to your parents?” said Rosier. 

“Yes, that’s correct. He didn’t actually show up himself, but he sent Rodolphus Lestrange, and he had a personal letter from the Dark Lord.”

“Ah yes, Rodolphus was a great friend of Corban, was he not?”

Noting that the girls at their table were still eyeing them curiously, James threw himself back into the game with Sirius: “Roper is an impressive player, I’ll give you that. The slope he did when Bagman kicked his feet up on his chest was a sight to behold.”

Sirius laughed appreciatively at this. “Mmm, that’s a favourite of mine as well. Speaking of Bagman, think he’ll spread his eagle for the Wimbourne Wasps next season?”

“You cheat, I was the one who told you I think he’s swinging that way. You said you didn’t believe me, but I’ll bet you anything he’ll be playing with the Wasps' bludgers by summer,” muttered James, but then he kept quiet again as the subject at the next table changed.

“Evan, if you don’t mind me asking, what is the real name of the Dark Lord?” was asked by the other man, and James recognized him now as Gregorius Greengrass, who worked for the Wizengamot.

“That’s not an appropriate question to ask if you’d like to keep your position in society,” said Rosier dangerously, and there was a tense pause.

“But you’ve met him personally?” whispered the other girl. She sounded thrilled and frightened in equal measure.

“I have,” said Rosier quietly, “but you would do well to stop asking questions about him. He has more power than any of us can possibly imagine.”

There was a hushed silence, and James gave Sirius a meaningful look.

“What about the last Magpie game, then? I believe they played the Wasps a week ago. Moreno does it a bit like a butterfly, the way he holds onto the quaffle. I know from experience that it’s a right killer on the thighs and arms.”

“Any matters of interest at the Wizengamot? asked Rosier.

“There’s been one or two more records that have gone missing, as promised. Our mutual friend Lucius paid me a visit about that already, and we were able to come to an agreement. Old Abraxas Malfoy is highly regarded by most of the Wizengamot, and a recommendation from him means a lot.”

Sirius looked disgusted, and James cut in quickly before he could say something inappropriate: “Moving over the pitch like a crab, Moreno was.”

“Why would a quidditch manoeuvre be named after a crab? Surely that’s unsanitary?” asked Sirius, crinkling his nose.

“Loomed over it like a crouching tiger, then.”

“Still stinks of corruption to me,” muttered Sirius, but he did it very quietly. The two witches at their table had stopped giving them looks (they had started out as confused before looking grossed out), and James leaned back in to listen.

“Any news on this Order business, Evan? The _Prophet_ is full of Dumbledore’s secret band of rebels, but is there any truth to it?”

“They do exist,” said Rosier with obvious reluctance. “Haven’t seen much of them, myself, but they do like to keep in the thick of it. We have a fairly good idea of who they are, though.”

“Can we stop talking politics for a bit?” asked Celeste Yaxley, stifling a yawn. “I thought you promised me a dance, Gregorius?”

“Yes of course. May I?” There was the rustle of robes and a clinking of a glass as it was emptied. After that all four occupants vacated the table.

“Really drilled it in there, proper screwdriver. Or was it jackhammer I meant?” said James, turning back to Sirius and inadvertently drawing back the attention of the two girls. They both frowned and were probably realizing what the real topic for conversation was.

“I believe both are viable if you’re just looking to put the quaffle in,” said Sirius casually. “Now, if you’re looking to catch the snitch, however, I’d advise you to go about it the amazon way.”

“What’s that when it’s at home?” asked James, grinning at the promising allusions of the word amazon. 

“Ah, that might be one to bring up with Lily,” Sirius responded, smiling suggestively in remembrance of what appeared to be a fond memory. “Would leave her completely in charge of your broom, so to speak.”

“I like the sound of that,” murmured James, and smiled angelically at the girls at their table. They did not return the smile.


	44. 'There must be some kind of way outta here' said the joker to the thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "All Along the Watchtower" by Jimi Hendrix.

Sirius received a letter from his cousin Andromeda, telling him that Regulus had been declared dead and that the funeral would take place on Sunday. According to Andromeda’s sources, he hadn’t been seen for three weeks, and rumour had it that he had betrayed the Death Eaters somehow, had probably been killed by them for desertion or accidentally died on a mission gone wrong. Andromeda extended an apology to Sirius for telling him that his brother had been a Death Eater as she assumed he hadn’t known about it, and that she understood if he was upset about it. If he wanted to he would always be welcome to come to her for a chat. She knew exactly what it felt like to have a sibling be blinded by he-who-must-not-be-named, after all. Andromeda’s letter then frankly stated that she could not mourn the person Regulus had become, but that she had lit a candle for a photo of Regulus as a small child she had found in an old photo album. She told him she would try to think of the child he had been when she remembered him in the future, as nothing good could come of dwelling on what had happened. 

Sirius took the executive decision of not showing Regulus the letter, as nothing good or even funny was likely to come of it. He did send a friendly reply to his cousin, omitting everything he knew about his brother’s supposed death and his former allegiance to the Death Eaters, instead thanking her for the sympathies and assuring her he was not too torn up about his brother’s fate. Then he asked Regulus if he wanted to go to his own funeral.

Sirius had spent almost every day going to pubs and bars in different incarnations (he favoured transfiguring his face and using large sunglasses over changing his hair) to try and eavesdrop on suspicious pub-goers, anyone who looked as if they might have a hand in planning a murderous muggle attack on the tube. He was also expected to patrol the tube together with Remus for hours every day. James had needed the invisibility cloak back, and this had left Regulus with little to do, as he couldn’t break into Malfoy Manor without the cloak. Saturday was going to be the big birthday extravaganza á la Remus and James, although with the constant patrolling on the tube that had to be done, along with the Order inopportunely being let in on Remus's secret life as a werewolf, it was shaping up to be a turbulent event. Sirius wasn’t sure yet what to do with Regulus on Saturday, he thought it would be hilarious to have his brother parade around as Giorgia the Italian muggle exchange student for the duration of the party, but Regulus predictably hadn’t shared Sirius’s delight with the idea. Remus had, equally predictably, taken Regulus’s side by telling Sirius that it would be difficult to have a pretend muggle at a wizarding house party, as it would mean no ever-burning birthday candles, no Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur (Lily would be upset) and James would have to disinvite the wood nymphs he’d booked to sing Happy Birthday.

Thursday had been the full moon. Remus had been extra miserable about his werewolf status since the Order found out, not listening to Sirius’s well-meant verbal abuse of the bigoted Order members. As far as Sirius could tell, most of them were trying to act as if nothing had happened, as if Remus wasn’t really a werewolf (they were merely avoiding him for some indiscernible but less prejudiced reason) and the better amongst them would get over themselves soon enough, but the damage to Remus’s brittle self-esteem had been done and it would take time for Sirius and the others to rebuild it. Moony had spent an unusual amount of time howling in misery after they had all transformed on the Scottish mountainside. For Sirius it had been rather a nice break, although he would never tell Remus that. He had been itching for proper exercise, and running, swimming and climbing as Padfoot was most satisfying. He also didn’t have to watch his words as Padfoot, worry about saying the wrong thing in his increasingly erratic attempts at cheering Remus up. He had taken Remus back to the flat as usual, once he’d turned back into their timid and kindly human, only to find Regulus up and waiting for them. Sirius was under the impression Remus hadn’t told Regulus about his furry little problem yet, and from the look Regulus gave them Sirius could tell that time was running out if Remus wanted to tell him before he figured it out himself. But as it wasn’t Sirius’s secret to tell (he'd fallen into that trap once before, hadn't he?), and as Regulus was too proud and too well-mannered to ask outright, he simply put Remus to bed and then left the flat to meet Mundungus Fletcher.

Sirius had picked out Concubine’s Delight as a good place for meeting with people he didn’t care to be seen with in the open, people who likely shared that sentiment in regard to him. Mr Fielding, the muggle-born who owned the curiosity and antiques shop in Diagon Alley, had thanked Sirius profusely when he had fought off some Death Eaters who had tried to wreck the shop in retaliation for his blood status combined with his audacity to keep a shop on a wizarding street. Sirius had been there since to look at the selection of magical antiques and oddities, he’d even bought Lily’s birthday present there (a talking mirror in a handsome gold frame that now hung in the bedroom in Godric’s Hollow. Lily had told him that it complimented her on her looks every morning, and admonished James for the poor care he took of his hair even more frequently). Mr Fielding greeted Sirius with a secretive smile when he entered the shop, flicked his wand towards the sign at the door to change it from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ and then busied himself with something at the counter. The smell of Dung’s pipe was coming from somewhere in the back, and Sirius made his way around a rocking chair with velvet cushions and a heavy oak cabinet that was whistling a mostly obsolete Christmas carol completely in tune. 

“’Oose crest d’you reckon this is, Sirius?” mumbled Dung in greeting, he was slouched in the shadow of a giant cello and holding a silver plate, puffing on his pipe. The plate was edged with apple blossoms that shuddered from the pipe smoke and little snakes that slithered around the edges at dizzying speeds. 

Sirius squinted at the crest in the middle of the plate. He’d long tried to smother all memory of the lessons in pureblood families and customs he’d had as a child, but some things were impossible to repress. 

“The Gaunts’”, he said in a bored voice. 

“Never even bloody ‘eard of ‘em”, muttered Dung disappointedly.

“Surely you can use that to your advantage, my dearest Dung?” said Sirius in mock genteel politeness, and Dung removed the pipe and grinned into the now foggy surface of the plate, revealing a missing tooth. “Were you able to get it or not?”

“No basilisk venom anywhere in Blighty to be ‘ad”, said Mundungus unhelpfully.

“What about France? Or Italy?” asked Sirius impatiently. Remus had read that the last confirmed (completely illegal) basilisk breeder had moved in between Nice and Florence in the 15th Century.

“Nuffink movin’ in those circles. Best bet’s the Soviet Union, but you can’t trust the crooks there like you can the ones ‘round ‘ere, mate. No guarantee you’ll be gettin’ what you pay for.”

“Alright,” said Sirius moodily, sticking his hands in his pockets where some galleons clinked cheerfully at odds with how he was feeling. Dung looked up from the plate for the first time and eyed Sirius thoughtfully. 

“Got some new pills in, ‘appy ones.”

“Maybe some other time. I need psycho euagarics, though, let's say half a dozen doses.” They were running out of the mushrooms that helped with Remus’s pre-moon symptoms, and Lily had said they wouldn’t be able to pick more themselves until June. Sirius’s own eagerness to drown out his mind with drugs had abated as the Order missions grew more frequent and as all his spare time went into planning the destruction of horcruxes. Alcohol was still fine, perhaps even essential, Sirius was reasonably sure he could manage a surprise duel with your run-of-the-mill Death Eater a bit drunk or hungover. Muggle drugs were a different game of quidditch, though. 

He set a date for meeting Mundungus again in a week’s time, and then dutifully went around the shop to find something to buy in exchange for the privacy they had been afforded by the shopkeeper. Mr Fielding kept looking at him as he moved around the shop, barely-suppressed hunger in his eyes whenever Sirius bent down or reached up for a better view of something. Sirius let him look.

In the end he decided on an enchanted pack of cards, thinking he could give them to James as a birthday present. The cards, made from silk and gold, had exponentially undressed women preening themselves or acting bashful in the pictures, and the heart suit featured a voluptuous ginger lady he thought James would appreciate. Mr Fielding smiled almost sadly at the cards with the nude women as Sirius put them away in his pocket and handed him some gold in return. Sirius went off on Order duty alone after that, he had pretended to Remus that he had been assigned a different partner for the day, but really he was going alone. He was quite capable of riding the tube and patrolling the stations on his own; he even knew how to work the ticket barriers the muggle way now.

When Sirius got back from his stint at Mornington Crescent tube station in the late afternoon, he found Regulus and Remus both in front of the telly, watching _Blue Peter_ and learning how to make models of little muggle space ships, planets and stars from toilet paper rolls and coloured paper. Sirius wondered what Regulus made of it all, he had stopped giving the TV wide berths when he walked through their sitting room, but Sirius had never seen him sit down to watch it before. Remus had buried himself in blankets and pillows and the flat smelt strongly of Earl Grey, presumably that's what was emanating from the mismatched cups and saucers Sirius had picked up on a whim from a muggle antiques shop. The large china kettle decorated with a rosy-cheeked shepherdess and woolly lambs had been brought to the sofa table with the cups and was still steaming. Regulus was sitting in the arm chair, from his posture it was clear that he was keeping his distance from Remus, as if he suspected Remus to be ill with a bout of the flu. There was no telling if he knew about Remus’s wolfish alter ego yet.

Sirius toppled onto the sofa and listened contentedly to Remus’s muffled cries of indignation. His hair still smelt of pinecones and fresh earth. He got hold of Remus’s warm and bony body under the blankets and held him close while he watched Regulus. Regulus was watching him in return, a snobbishly raised eyebrow not quite masking his discomfort at the display of affection playing out in front of him.

“Dung reckons we’ll have to travel to the USSR to get basilisk venom,” said Sirius eventually, once Regulus had looked away and focused on the TV. “Obviously we’re not going there. Do you think we should ask the McKinnons next, or should we break into Grimmauld Place?”

“Maybe we should try Grimmauld Place first,” said Regulus, not taking his eyes from the telly, and Sirius noticed with surprise that Regulus did not refer to the place as ‘home’. Before he got to comment on it, however, there was a familiar shout of his name coming from his pocket. For once, he’d remembered to carry the two-way mirror with him; usually he just forgot it on his bed. He gave Regulus a stern look to make sure he understood to keep quiet, and then dug the mirror out of his pocket with some difficulty (his trousers were of a snug fit, no wonder the shopkeeper hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off). 

“Haven’t you received the patronus?” shouted James, mingled excitement and fright in every syllable. A door slammed on James’s side, he seemed to be running.

“No?” said Sirius, heart rate picking up.

“Is Remus ok to fight right after the full moon? Something’s going down in Farringdon tube station, Marlene and Lily are there and I’m on my way as we speak.”

Sirius glanced quickly at Regulus, who was staring calculatingly at Remus. Remus shifted underneath him, attempting to get up. 

“We’ll be there in two shakes, don’t worry mate.”

“See you on the other side,” said James and disappeared from the mirror. Sirius stared blankly at his own face in the mirror, he looked dead tired and grim. Remus was still struggling to get out of the cocoon of blankets, sofa cushions and Sirius he had built for himself, determinedly avoiding Regulus’s eyes, which were still fixed on them.

“Don’t you two need to get going? Save the muggles?” Regulus asked evenly. 

“We do,” agreed Sirius and got up, looking around the room for some Firewhiskey, as Remus scrambled away from underneath him in search of clothes. A shot for the road would wake him up nicely.


	45. Kill me if you dare, hold my head up everywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "Underdog" by Kasabian.
> 
> Plenty of death in this chapter.

Lily and Marlene had been travelling on the metropolitan line when they heard a commotion on the platform in Farringdon. One look was enough to tell them that there were Death Eaters in the distance, and they jumped out onto the platform. Marlene focused on sending her marmoset patronus to everyone in the Order she could think of while Lily ushered muggles into the waiting train car, wand in hand. Death Eaters were descending onto the northbound platform from above, great black figures against the sunset reddening through the vaulted glass ceiling. 

“I’m with the London Transport Executive!” Lily shouted commandingly, while she waved urgently for people to get on board (as everyone had been moving to get on the train, anyway, she didn’t find it too difficult). “We’re practising for an emergency situation, everybody get on board immediately, please!”

The first spell swished past her and ineffectively hit the side of a window of the car she was standing next to. 

“Protego!” Lily roared, and felt the powerful shield charm expand past her, covering herself, Marlene and most of the train. There was a beeping noise and the doors along the train closed. It started moving as soon as the doors had closed, and Lily gazed up at the timetable. 6 minutes until the next one was due on the northbound platform. 

There were two pops of apparition, quickly followed by a third. Gideon, Fabian and Benjy had arrived on their platform. Lily broke her charm and started firing hexes at the Death Eaters closest to them. 

“Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Levicorpus! Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!” 

“Get away from the platform! This is an order!” Moody had appeared on the southbound platform, and he hurried around shooing five or six muggles who were waiting for the tube. 

“Flipendo! Furnunculus!” came James voice from above, Lily could see him, Sirius and Remus appearing on opposite sides of the passages leading to the stairs going down to the platform. Both Sirius and Remus appeared to be casting their spells silently, not giving away their position quite yet, Remus sickly-looking and holding on to the banisters with his left hand. Sirius’s moss-green spell of unknown nature collided with James’s boil hex as they found the same target, and the Death Eater’s silver mask was blasted off his face, forced off by acidic-looking, oozing purple mushrooms that were sprouting all over the Death Eater’s face and neck. 

“Stupefy!” shouted Lily, trying to get an unmasked Evan Rosier as he jumped dramatically (aided by magic) over the tracks, heading for the southbound platform, Moody and the muggles. She missed, and then had to duck as a hex soared past her. The spells exploded around and above her, beautiful colours amplified by the glass ceiling and crimson backdrop.

There were more cracks of apparition on the southbound platform, and Lily saw Peter’s anxious face as he sent stunning spells in every direction, almost hitting Moody. Several Death Eaters had apparated to that side of the platform as well, and Moody and Peter certainly had their work cut out for them. The muggles were visible behind a latticework of gleaming metal and magic in the corner of the platform, Moody’s spellwork keeping them safe for the time being. Lily sent another stunning spell towards Rosier, who was doing his utmost to take down Moody. She missed again and prepared to apparate to the other side.

The train station loudspeakers crackled into life, and Lily recognized Sturgis Podmore’s voice as he, with unreal calm, explained that Farringdon station was under attack, everybody needed to evacuate, and no trains would be allowed to enter the station. At the same time, however, the tell-tale noise and rush of air of the tube could be heard, and the next northbound train pulled into the station in complete disregard of Podmore. 

Lily had abandoned her disapparition plans and started locking the doors long before the train had come to a stop, and further down she could see Marlene and Benjy doing the same, jinxes and curses still whizzing past them, colliding loudly with the train. A few of the middle car doors did open before Lily or anyone else got to them, but mercifully the passengers seemed to have realized that they better not get off here. Lily could see several Death Eaters fighting with renewed vigour, trying desperately to get closer to the stationary train and the muggles within. A mild explosive curse hit just outside one of the open doors, and there were worried screams, but Lily didn’t think it had managed to do any real damage. 

A shout of glee sounded to her right, at the very front of the train. A Death Eater blasted the door open, and before Lily could do anything a dead body fell out of the front, dressed in a uniform. Heart in her throat and blood pounding in her ears, Lily ran up to the driver’s car and blindly sent a tripping jinx into the large opening, just as it started moving again. There was a grunt and a body slammed to the floor, and Lily didn’t hesitate but jumped into the car. Her left hand got hit by a nasty, skin flaying hex, but she overpowered the single Death Eater before she could more than register the pain. After a full body-bind curse aimed at the man on the floor, she turned her attention to the empty driver’s seat. The train was rattling forwards through a tunnel at a leisurely pace, and Lily needed to figure out how to drive it.

“Merlin’s discarded petticoat,” she grumbled incoherently, memories of Marlene’s and Dorcas’s attempts to teach her wizarding sayings surfacing unhelpfully. She’d never quite gotten the hang of it. 

Lily stepped forcefully on the Death Eater’s masked face, in his current state he wasn’t even capable of grunting his displeasure at her. She took a seat, noting the thermos and half-eaten sandwich the driver had been forced to abandon. There were several buttons, a small wheel and two levers, also something that looked like a small speaker or a walkie talkie. Fortunately, one of the buttons was labelled ‘emergency stop’, and Lily didn’t hesitate to press it, just as the train was entering the much larger King’s Cross station. There was an oily, burnt smell, and the piercing groan of grinding metal, but the train stopped in a way that left only the first two cars by the platform, the rest of the train was still in the tunnel.

Lily took hold of the thing that looked like a walkie talkie connected by a thick curly cord to the panel and tried to think of what to say to calm the passengers down. There were shouts, suddenly, but they were not coming from her train. The commuters on the platform were suddenly running and screaming, bodies falling left right and centre. A long-limbed man in a black cloak was striding towards her. He had immaculate, dark hair and his face was whiter than a skeleton's. His eyes were flashing red like in a badly developed muggle photograph. 

“This is not over yet,” Lily found herself saying into the speaker, hoping her passengers could hear her. “There’s a man the police are looking for, former IRA, he’s trying to get on this train with a gun.” Voldemort was alone on the platform now, alone with a dozen corpses. Lily could hear an official message over the loudspeakers at the platform, everyone was being told to evacuate King’s Cross immediately. “I need all of you to hide in the last car on this train.”

Lily fumbled behind her and found a door handle. She pulled and pushed at it ineffectually with her damaged hand, keeping her panic at bay, wand steady in her other hand. Finally, with a twist, the door opened, and she pushed through, hearing glass breaking when the first curse hit as she pushed the door shut. 

“Duro!” Lily roared, putting all her might into the spell, a rasping noise coming directly from the walls of the car as they turned to stone. She ran through the empty car and into the next one, slamming the door shut and repeating the spell that turned the car into stone, then doing the same for the door and the windows. She had barely gotten through to the third car, which still contained a few frightened passengers, when a blast like a bomb sounded, Lily and the passengers crashing to the floor with the wave of power from Voldemort’s spell. It had evidently blasted both front cars into smithereens, bright rocks now flying around the platform like gravel and pebbles, some of the missiles getting in through the open door of the third car. 

There was the sound of dozens of people apparating on the King’s Cross side, and Lily had no idea if they were friend or foe. The rubble was clearing and she caught Voldemort’s eye for a second time. A sneer twisted his features momentarily before he conjured up fire and disapparated. The fire engulfed the car in seconds, hotter and more powerful than anything Lily had ever experienced. 

She almost felt as if she wasted the seconds it took to perform a bubblehead charm on herself and the others in the car, but her decision proved valid as the passengers were able to get back up from the floor, no longer coughing and retching from the fire and the smoke, and were able to stumble into the next car in an orderly queue, putting out hems of burning clothing or strands of hair as they went. Rarely had Lily been prouder of her countrymen than today. She left the car last, buzzing with adrenalin, sweating profusely and with scorching feet, her plimsols were not designed for walking through infernos. 

“Duro!” Lily said again, hoping that the transfiguration would give them more time to get through the train before all of it caught fire. The muggles were already through to the next car, and she repeated the spell in the next car, and the next. Finally, she reached the last car, which was packed with people. Everyone became quiet as she stepped in, wand in hand, and locked the last door. There was an uncomfortably fearful atmosphere in the jampacked little space, but nobody said a word. Lily could hear plenty of people crying, though, even through the roar of the fire.

“Let me through!” she demanded, and the sea parted for her. She thought she must look ridiculous with the fishbowl-like bubble around her head, her stick of a wand and her burnt clothes. She was wearing an Appleby Arrows t-shirt she'd gotten to antagonize James, and sometimes, when the player on the front thought nobody was looking, he tossed an apple into the air. She was let through to the emergency exit, wrenched it open following the instructions helpfully on the door, but then hesitated as she stared down at the tracks. Smoke started billowing into the car as soon as she had opened the door.

“Finite Incantatem!”, she tried hopefully, pointing at the metal tracks. She didn’t want anyone to get electrocuted if they touched them by mistake, that would put a damper on the rescue mission. “Ok, you lot, listen up”, she continued, “Step on the wood in between the tracks, make sure you don’t touch the metal. And to prevent suffocation, I ask that you let me put on the same safety hat I’m wearing as there’s a lot of smoke out here. Stop before you get to Farringdon station, I’ll need to check it’s safe first.”

Lily turned her wand on the closest passenger, who predictably shied away from having a stick pointed at him. Once the bubble had appeared around his head, Lily pushed him towards the door, and he got down onto the tracks and started walking fast, not looking back. Thirty charms later Lily was finally able to leave the car, jumping over to the side of the tracks and starting off at a painful jog, her burnt feet taking her past the procession. They all looked extraordinarily silly, a bit like astronauts if she was generous, but more like people wearing fishbowls on their heads. Lily caught up with the first man just as he came to a stop. The lights from Farringdon station were shining in front, and Lily could hear loud voices, but no explosions as she continued walking. She broke into a huge smile as she stepped into the light; Remus and Peter were sitting nearby on the platform, looking exhausted but whole. 

“It’s safe, you can come on out! Stay clear off the metal!” Lily shouted behind her, bringing Remus’s and Peter’s attention to her as well. 

“James, she’s safe!” roared Peter haphazardly in the direction of the opposite platform, and Lily could hear a muffled shout and several cracks of apparition, just as the first of her muggles made their careful way into Farringdon station. 

“It’s quite alright, there’s a ladder here for you,” said Lily quickly rushing towards the muggles who’d stopped in a panic at the loud noise. Next Lily could feel herself being lifted off the ground, James’s familiar arms around her waist and his wet face in her neck. 

“Help me with the muggles, James,” she tried to admonish him, but the adrenalin was wearing off, blending into dizziness and hysterical laughter, and pain was returning to her feet and hand. “And keep clear off the metal tracks, James, we can get ourselves electrocuted muggle style otherwise.”

“Podmore turned it off, said it was too dangerous with so many clueless pureblood Order members prancing around,” said James and sniffed wetly into her hair. Lily decided that meant she could hand over the responsibility to someone else, and she was vaguely aware of Peter, Remus and Sirius helping the muggles up the ladder and removing her fresh air bubbles as she hugged James. The roar of the fire could no longer be heard from the tunnel leading to King’s Cross, and presumably the Order or the MLE had it under control by now. 

“Is anyone hurt?” she asked finally, leaning heavily on James as her legs didn’t want to carry her anymore.

“Both our new recruits are dead,” said James with a stifled sob. “Not Mary, but the new couple, you know. Remus got hit by the cruciatus curse, but he’s insisting that it was nicer than what turning into a werewolf feels like. Peter actually got in the stunner that saved him, the slimy tosser might have killed Moony next if Peter hadn’t gotten between them. He’s under arrest, although we’re still not sure who he is.”

Lily took this in with an odd sense of pride despite the bleak circumstances, she was proud of both Remus and Peter. But the new recruits… They had been two dropouts from Hogwarts, a boy and a girl who had been in their last year but decided they wanted to make a difference immediately, not patient enough to wait for their qualifications. Lily was pretty sure this had been their first real fight; she’d only met them once earlier in the week as she delivered some potions to Moody’s house. 

“I saw Voldemort today,” she told him quietly, biting in a shiver as his body froze in her arms. And Voldemort had seen her.


	46. People try to put us down just because we get around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from "My Generation" by the Who.

“Happy Birthday wankers!” Marlene roared exuberantly and jumped onto James, first, and then onto Remus. She planted a loud kiss on Remus’s cheek as well as she thought he might need it. Both men were already flushed with alcohol and Remus smelt quite strongly of pot. Remus blushed further as she hugged him longer than necessary, and he didn’t seem to know where to look as she handed him a handmade birthday card, on the cover of which she’d drawn a wolf. 

“You shouldn’t have,” he mumbled and stared intently at the card rather than at her. 

“After all you’ve been through this week, a card’s the least you deserve”, said Marlene airily, “what with getting hit by an unforgivable curse and the full moon and everything.” Marlene cleared her throat and thought back to the Order meeting. It couldn’t have been fun for poor Remus to be tossed into the spotlight like that, he wasn’t like her or Sirius or James who fed on all and any attention. Marlene wasn’t sure how the rest of the Order had taken it once the news had settled, either, she’d have thought that everyone would be fine with a werewolf; it wasn’t as if Remus had chosen it for himself or as if he was planning to do anyone any harm. But the way Benjy reacted had made her blood boil, as well as brought to her attention the reason why Remus had tried to keep it a secret in the first place.

“I do appreciate you coming tonight,” said Remus, still not meeting her eye.

“Merlin, Remus, it’s a party!” Marlene laughed, a bit louder than she meant to. “I adore parties, and you and James are some of my favourite people. ‘Course I came!”

“Where’s our gifts, then, Marlene?” asked James good-naturedly, moving back towards them as he perhaps sensed that Remus was uneasy, even after Marlene’s attempts to assure him everything was alright. 

“I got you some pot and some ‘shrooms,” she whispered conspiratorially; she could see James’s parents and some other proper grownups at the other end of the room. “Should I hide it in your room, Remus? You can split it however you wish yourselves.”

“That’s brilliant, Marlene, you absolute legend!” James hollered happily, lifting her by the waist and spinning her almost all the way round until she shouted with laughter. So much for being subtle with the gift. Remus took the paper bag from her with a word of thanks once she was safely on the ground again and left her free to go check the other guests out. 

It was very Order-centric, Marlene noted, but perhaps that was for security reasons. Frank and Alice were talking to the people she thought were James’s parents, Marlene had heard that the Longbottoms had successfully completed auror training. James’s mother looked very familiar, and Marlene thought she might have been high up at the Ministry some years ago. 

Hestia Jones was making what looked like awkwardly one-sided conversation with a man Marlene had never seen before. He was unfashionably dressed, looked disorganized albeit not unkempt, and his face, beard and greying hair would have you believe that he was a lot older than his fluid movements suggested. 

Mary Macdonald had found one of the four corners in the room and planted herself firmly. She was just outside the natural circles of conversation, far enough away to cement the impression that she didn’t belong. Marlene had never had much time for her during their 7 years together at Hogwarts, which from the outside might seem odd as they had shared a dormitory. But Mary had always been Lily’s friend and not much else. Marlene thought that when Lily was younger she must have collected lonesome misfits. She’d even been friend with Snape; surely the most anti-social boy in the whole school, and Marlene remembered that Lily’s previous boyfriend had been an astronomy nerd from Ravenclaw who never spoke much to anyone. Mary had never diverted from the paved road, she’d always been a colourless fixture and ran along with the rest of them without making a sound. Her instinct to follow had apparently declined once almost all her fellow Gryffindors joined the Order and she’d backed out only to fade into an obscurity so dense they had all but forgotten about her. Moody or Dumbledore must have agreed she could come back, and here she was, still attempting to blend into the wall paint by the looks of it.

Isolde Bones was there, looking radiant and a little bit pregnant, easily keeping the attention of most of the room while she talked, which impressed Marlene no end. Miss Bones had, for obvious reasons, stopped coming to the Order meetings, but with a persona like hers and connections everywhere she was likely doing a lot of work behind the scenes still. 

Marlene could see Sirius and Peter, both looking close to spell-bound while listening to Miss Bones tell a story about a year she had spent living in a forest in Argentina, fighting off jaguars that had taken to killing the native winged horses by jumping onto them from trees and biting through their skulls. Marlene knew she had spent many years as a foreign correspondent for the _Prophet_ , but this sounded like it had happened before she took to writing about adventure rather than living it. It certainly must have been before she came back to London and took over the main UK wizarding newspaper.

Marlene eyed Peter with renewed fondness. She had been knocked almost unconscious by a Death Eater’s blasting spell and had been too weak and disoriented to move when Remus had tried to come to her rescue. Before he got to her, the same Death Eater had overpowered him from behind with a body-bind curse, and then used the cruciatus curse on him. It had only lasted seconds, but Marlene was unlikely to ever forget the pitiful agony in Remus’s cries. She’d never seen the curse in action before, although she had heard stories of what it supposedly felt like. Peter had luckily gotten in a perfect stunning spell, and Marlene and Remus had been saved and the Death Eater taken into custody.

Peter looked more relaxed today than he had for months. Marlene supposed he was back on familiar ground; this was yet another Marauder’s party after all. With more high-profile guests and everyone a bit older, but the atmosphere wasn’t far off at all. James had jumped into the conversation and was using his easy storytelling skills to wow miss Bones and the others, with Sirius occasionally adding punchlines or taking the piss. Instead of a retelling of pranks at Hogwarts, the new stories were all about tricking Death Eaters, but it was easy to see the points of convergence. Remus and Lily were by the food, listening to their favourite show-offs with fond and indulgent faces. Peter was looking happy and in awe, and everybody else was laughing.

“And here’s the heroine of the hour,” Marlene proclaimed as she got closer to Lily. Lily was putting the finishing touches to a homemade cake, decorating it by piping Remus’s and James’s names in red icing onto the chocolate buttercream. 

“Not only did I save 37 people from Voldemort,” Lily said, eyes focused on her handiwork, “but after I’d seen Elfrida Bones I went straight home and baked this cake.”

“You are a bloody marvel,” Marlene gushed, and let her eyes wander over the kitchen table. There was a lot of food, and it was easy to tell what dishes Lily had brought. Somehow Marlene thought she might not be responsible for the salad containing mainly hacked-up radishes; nor the polystyrene containers of curry, but the many pies and the roast potatoes had to be her work. 

“We should have made you a cake, not the other way around,” said Remus. “You showed extraordinary bravery and skill yesterday.” He was helping himself to pie and, after a slight pause, added some radishes to his plate.

Marlene spotted Benjy entering the flat and he must have been able to feel her looking as his eyes immediately locked with hers. He looked hopeful and defiant in equal measure. Marlene shook her head minutely, then turned back to Lily and Remus. Remus was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable that Benjy had turned up. Lily seemed to be grasping for something not loaded to say.

“We almost forgot to invite Mary,” Lily blurted out in a low voice. Marlene decided not to reply, she didn’t even roll her eyes. Mary had made her own bed by quitting the Order and staying gone for months and months; it was no wonder she wasn’t the first person who came to mind when deciding on the guestlist for a birthday party. 

“She’s your maid of honour, yeah?” she asked as cheerfully as she could instead.

“No wedding talk tonight, please” groaned Lily. “We’ve still no bloody clue what we’re doing. D’you know, yesterday James asked me what type of birds muggles put on their wedding cakes? Birds!? Why do wizards have to put sodding phoenixes on their wedding cakes, who on earth came up with such a ridiculous tradition?”

Marlene shrugged, sensing that she wasn’t expected to come up with an answer to that age-old question. 

“Phoenixes are the most faithful creatures in the world, I reckon that’s the thinking behind it,” offered Remus. “You could tell James muggles use ostriches or penguins, can you imagine a live one charmed to stand on a normal-sized wedding cake?”

“I like the way your mind works, but I was hoping for a solution that didn’t involve any birds at all.”

“Decorate the cake with a scarecrow?” suggested Marlene and cracked up at the thought. 

“James will just think you’re taking the piss, you must’ve noticed his hair and the way he dresses?” Remus said innocently. Lily raised an eyebrow but didn’t jump to her fiancé’s defence. 

Someone had invited Alastor Moody, and Marlene succumbed to giggles when she spotted him sniffing suspiciously at a bowl of punch. He had every reason to avoid the punch, though; Marlene had tried some and she was sure it contained Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur, muggle sparkling wine and quite possibly pineapple juice (there was a whole pineapple in the enormous glass punchbowl, which the hosts explained away with a careless shrug whenever asked what it was doing there). In any case, the punch had a pineapple centre piece, moved and shimmered alluringly and was the colour of cat sick, if cat sick ever contained glitter. 

“How’re things at the auror office?” she asked him, once she’d regained control of her facial expressions and sauntered over to him. 

“The Longbottoms are a godsend,” Moody answered with rare content. “Been trying for the best part of a year to inconspicuously tighten the cooperation between the auror’s office and the Order, and with their help it should run a lot smoother from now on.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Marlene happily, and started filling her goblet with the alarming-looking punch. Moody smiled sinisterly as a drop of it spilt on Marlene’s hand and immediately began swaying to a tune of its own. 

“They’re idiots for throwing this party, letting so many people know where they live,” grumbled Moody, and Marlene had to kill the urge to ask where Moody lived. He’d probably think she was a traitor, fishing for information. 

“Lyall Lupin”, said a low voice behind them, and a large hand with a missing finger shot past Marlene towards Moody. It was the man with the grey hair who had been talking to Hestia Jones.

“Alastor Moody,” said Moody gruffly and shook the proffered hand. 

Marlene introduced herself, even though she wasn’t offered a hand to shake. Remus’s father looked nothing like him, and he seemed to have none of Remus’s gentle sweetness. The social awkwardness was there, she thought, although it made itself known a bit differently, as he proceeded to ignore her in favour of striking up an academic conversation about vampires with Moody. Marlene stuck around anyway and found out that Lyall Lupin had made a profession out of hunting dark creatures (the irony!) and making legislative suggestions about their treatment to the Ministry, and that he, whilst unimpressed with his son’s lack of a job was astonished that a famous auror would come to his birthday bash. Marlene got the impression that Remus’s father was trying to figure out if his son was in the Order of the Phoenix, but of course he was not getting any information out of Moody, who kept mostly quiet throughout. 

“May I have your attention, please!” said Sirius suddenly, he was pointing his wand at his neck, amplifying his voice, and he sounded more than a little drunk. “We’ve gathered here today to celebrate the ageing process of two of the brightest young things in our circle.”

Marlene cheered happily along with a few of the others, which changed into laughter as she saw Moody’s and Lyall Lupin’s horrified faces. Professor Dumbledore chose this moment to arrive and, dressed in pink robes with a matching pointed hat, the great man snuck in behind Sirius and leaned comfortably against the wall to listen to the speech.

“One of them lost their virginity on the quidditch pitch despite the interruption of the whole Ravenclaw team walking onto said pitch for practice.” 

More cheering, laughter and nervous coughing. Marlene saw James’s mother throw her head back with laughter at the revelation.

“The other once got so drunk in the middle of the afternoon that he puked from the top of the Astronomy Tower onto the board of governors, who were being led around the grounds and shown the Whomping Willow by Professor McGonagall,” Sirius continued, evil glint very much present in his eye. Marlene almost pissed herself as she saw Remus hiding his bright red face in his hands. Dumbledore could be heard chuckling in the background.

“It is with great pleasure I watch these two gentlemen grow older and stupider, and I would like to raise a toast to their continued blunders, which I hope will serve as great anecdote fodder for generations to come. To James and Remus!” Sirius knocked his drink back with little sophistication even before everyone else had the chance to join the toast, and then snapped his fingers. A podium appeared in the middle of the room with five little wood nymphs on it, all dressed as the Village People. Marlene bent over to suppress her laughter as they began singing "Happy Birthday" to the dance moves of “Y.M.C.A.”. The one dressed as a cowboy didn’t quite stay in sync with the rest. 

Marlene could tell that most of the room didn’t have any idea what the joke was, as few older wizards and witches kept up with muggle music. She could hear Sirius tell James over the singing that this was a taster of what his best man speech would be like, which seemed to entertain both no end. Marlene had some more punch, which already felt as if it was dancing around in her stomach, and then she was dragged off by Lily to play at being DJ’s. Isolde Bones joined them, and even danced some with them. Marlene thought she might finally have met her match when it came to dancing, which was both worrying and thrilling. Benjy tried to catch her eye again, but she continued to ignore him, and the rest of the evening passed in a blur of colour and laughter. Marlene felt more alive than she had in weeks, the war quite forgotten by the time she got herself home and passed out on her bed.


	47. Time may change me but I can't trace time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from David Bowie's "Changes".

Highgate Cemetery was hauntingly beautiful the evening after the funeral. The graveyard lay quiet in wet shades of grey and green and Regulus thought he could see why his Slytherin family was so proud of being buried here. There was a magical section, of course, but it didn’t look any different to the muggle one; in fact the muggle part was buzzing with secretive magic too. Regulus wondered if there were old magical graves mixed in with the muggles, maybe it was only the pureblood Londoners of the last 200 years who had insisted they get their own secluded area, not wishing to share the earth with commoners?

Regulus had taken the muggle tube, the red one to Bank and the black one to Highgate. He thought it fitting that the line that went to the cemetery, his funeral and his gravestone was black; a further sign that muggles had more to offer than what they were given credit for in his old circles. He had passed King’s Cross, which had been up and running like usual. The fire and the explosion and the dead muggles had all been cleared away, and the muggle newspapers were, he’d been told, talking about an attack by an associate of the IRA. Lupin had tried to explain what that meant to the muggle community, something about a dormant organization of terror that’d murdered people before, but most of it had gone over Regulus’s head and he thought it indecent to ask too many questions. It was the subject matter as much as the step into muggle culture it might mean he was taking, in his experience it was always better to keep quiet and try to make sense of things later. 

Lily Evans had singlehandedly saved 37 muggles; this had not escaped Regulus’s attention. She had come face to face with the Dark Lord in one of the underground trains trapped with the muggles, and she had gotten them out safely and survived herself. Many less fortunate muggles had died, though, along with two Order members and three Death Eaters. Regulus had not asked who they were yet, afraid of which of his old friends might have lost the battle with the Order. He was sure Sirius would have thrown it in his face if it had been any of the kids from his year, or a relation of the Blacks, which fortunately ruled most people of importance out. 

He was under the impression that the dead Order members had not been close to Sirius, and so he had left his condolences to a minimum. Talking about death felt unreal anyway, never mind if it was people they knew well, people they might have had a pint with the night before or once used the bat-bogey hex on in a Hogwarts corridor.

He hadn’t seen much of Sirius or indeed of Lupin. They had come back exhausted and very drunk from their fight in the underground. It had been a long and scary fight with lots of blood, as he understood it, and the younger members of the Order had presumably gotten pissed together afterwards. Or perhaps it was just Sirius and his little gang, Regulus knew well enough that a proclivity to habitual drunkenness ran n their family and that Sirius was no exception. Regulus supposed that their whole family had suffered from a collective need to forget current and past inter-familial disputes, which were rife in every branch of the family. The issue nowadays was steadily becoming that there was little future to look forward to within the once great family.

Yesterday he hadn’t seen much of his flatmates as they had celebrated again with the Order, although Regulus couldn’t fathom why they had agreed to do it in Sirius’s flat. Regulus had walked the streets of his hometown through the night, heavily transfigured and in Sirius’s muggle clothes. They were extremely uncomfortable, and Regulus refused to believe that Sirius chose to wear them for any other reason than to upset family members and allies of the Blacks’. Regulus had walked all along the river to the centre of town and seen the sights as the muggles would. He’d brought sandwiches with him and had them on a park bench on the embankment. Nobody had bothered him, except for a Scandinavian-sounding tourist asking for directions to Oxford Street. Regulus had deigned to explain how to get there, and the muggle had thanked him very cordially. He had returned, walking back along the river, at 4 in the morning, occasionally dodging a drunk and unsteady muggle. There had been an empty bottle outside their door, which was the agreed-upon signal that all guests had left the flat and that it was safe for Regulus to enter.

As far as he understood it, the auror Alastor Moody had been there, and even Dumbledore had made an appearance. The horcruxes had been hidden in the muggle toilet cistern, in a water-proof box with a selection of imperturbable charms on it, and all evidence of Regulus had been cleared away. He still thought it had been utter madness to invite the whole Order for a knees-up, what if someone had found the horcruxes? Or if the guests told the wrong people where the flat was located? Lupin had explained, with his usual lack of confidence, that the protective enchantments on the flat should still make it impossible for anyone with harmful intent to find it. Regulus would have found it a lot easier to trust Lupin’s enchantments had he not turned out to be a werewolf.

Spring was fast approaching, and there were little green bits in all the trees and oceans of pale narcissuses and white and blue crocuses on the ground. The last week had been warm, that’s what Lupin had said in an attempt to make conversation when he had made tea that morning. The cold air was supposed to return tomorrow, though, and Regulus caught himself feeling sorry for the pretty spring flowers. They were there already, proudly sprouting from the earth; they didn’t deserve the capricious English spring temperatures to drop below zero again. 

Regulus came to a halt at a fresh pile of earth. He had thought he would cry, but there were no tears forthcoming, just an unnatural chill in his bones. What had they buried in his stead?

His name and his dates looked like fresh wounds on the slab of black marble, under the scars of his father’s name. There was just one flower, an enchanted silver-white rose without a stem, clearly under a spell, hovering above the dark earth. 

Regulus fumbled with his wand, trying to focus his brain on conjuring flowers. It ended up being violets, and once he’d begun it was hard to stop. They were pristinely white and royally purple, and soon they covered the fresh grave. He gave them stems, leaves and roots in the hope that they would grow into something real.

When he got back to the flat his brother was up, mostly naked, long hair a mess, and with a beer in his hand attempting to counter a hangover. Lupin was dressed in shabby robes that could have been his Hogwarts ones, and the dark circles under his eyes suggested he was equally hung-over. Regulus let his eyes wander over Lupin, trying to spot the werewolf in him. But he just looked tired and soft, like a well-used flannel. 

“There’s something I’ve remembered, a titbit the Dark Lord said in passing some time ago. He said that he’d done more to ensure he’d live forever by the time he was a teenager than any of us could ever hope to do before we died. I thought he was talking about fame, or rather infamy, but of course it was another nod to his horcruxes.” Regulus sat down with the other two and summoned a beer for himself.

“By the time he was a teenager, you say,” mused Sirius. “Do you know when he made the horcruxes we have?”

“Not really. I did overhear a rather uncomfortable discussion between him and Bellatrix in the autumn. He said he’d spilt Hufflepuff blood to make the cup, but I don’t think he specified when.”

“I wonder how he got hold of two authentic Hogwarts founder relics. I’ve read everything I can find on the founders,” (here, Sirius interrupted Lupin with a teasing “I bet you have”) “… and there’s actually only three that ever get a mention. Hufflepuff’s cup is rumoured to have been passed down through her bloodline, although there’s no record of what the family is called now. Gryffindor’s sword is the easiest relic to find information on, as there were disputes between goblins and wizards regarding whom it belongs to. The sword was Goblin-made originally, and if I’ve understood it correctly, their view on ownership is different to wizards’ and witches’. The current location of the sword is unknown, but it is a highly magical artefact, and it is probable that it isn’t possible for any human or Goblin to own it ever since Gryffindor’s death. Rumour has it that it’s manifested itself every hundred years or so, showed up in the hands of former Gryffindor students when they’ve been fighting for their lives and showed proof of inordinate bravery. And then there’s the fabled diadem of Ravenclaw, which you’ve probably heard of. It’s never been seen anywhere but in reproductions of Rowena Ravenclaw, mainly in statues of her. There is no way of knowing if it's real or made up.”

“You’ve found nothing on the locket I found?” asked Regulus curiously.

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Slytherin's relic in history books is always the Chamber of Secrets, a secret magical room in the very centre of Hogwarts which he left behind when he left the school after the tiff with Gryffindor. Most books agree that it is pure legend and never existed. I reckon it makes sense that he would have left a different kind of relic behind, though, if we assume that the other founders’ relics are real. The locket you found is silver and gold with encrusted jewels, which I believe is what the three other ones are supposed to be made of as well. And the stylized ‘S’ on it corresponds to what Slytherin’s mark looks like, there’s a few places in the school where you can see the founder’s marks.”

“Really?” prodded Regulus curiously.

“There’s the Hufflepuff's badger in an ‘H’ same as on the horcrux cup on a stone in the kitchen,” agreed Sirius, jumping into the conversation. “On the wall beside the painting of the fruit bowl that leads in and out of the kitchen.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows a bit, because why on earth would Sirius have spent time in the kitchens at Hogwarts?

“Oh, come off it. You’ve never been in the kitchen at Hogwarts? Met the house elves? You and Kreacher were always thick as thieves, I thought for sure you would’ve jumped at the chance to have a chinwag with the elves at Hogwarts?”

Regulus pulled a face of pure distaste and ignored Sirius’s quiet laughter. He was fond of Kreacher, sure, but he didn’t care much for the idea that he would automatically like the company of other house elves because of that. They were servants, after all, and surely not all elves could be as amicable as Kreacher was?

“I preferred spending time with my friends in the common room, thanks kindly.”

“Speaking of your common room, Slytherin’s mark is on the metal part of the torch that triggers the passageway in the wall next to the portrait of Merlin to open,” said Lupin helpfully, and Regulus felt his eyebrows struggle even further up on his forehead.

“Surely you must’ve realised we broke into your common room when we were students,” grinned Sirius, clearly enjoying himself. “We turned all the stone snake ornaments into squishy pink, veiny dildos once, I’d’ve thought it difficult to forget. And you must remember when all the sofas turned into giant slugs when someone sat on them?”

“Sirius and James had a thing for animal transfiguration in fifth year,” explained Lupin with a happy sigh.

“I remember both of those occasions vividly,” admitted Regulus, to his surprise he had to struggle momentarily to keep a straight face. One of the first years had poked confusedly at the tree trunk-sized, very soft dildo that had poked out from beside the fireplace, clearly unfamiliar with the utensil. The dildos had made disturbing little sighs whenever touched, and loud, indecent moans when magically altered, which they’d found out as Slughorn was called and restored them to decorative snakes. It had been a little bit funny, after all he had been 14 and a smidge immature at the time. “I just didn’t realize anyone not in Slytherin would have figured out the secret room only accessible from our common room.”

“We’ve found just about every secret passageway and room the school has to offer,” Lupin explained in a soothing voice. “I believe that room is what originally started the idea of the chamber of secrets, although there were rumours that some chamber containing a murderous monster was opened 30 years ago. I only have old _Prophet_ articles to go on for that, however, and I don’t think we can trust them much.”

Sirius scowled in apparent agreement.

“I read today that the singer of the Hobgoblins has joined the Order of the Phoenix,” said Regulus, who had thought the idea quite funny. Stubby Boardman had been a 7th year Slytherin student when Regulus started school, and he thought it highly unlikely that the constantly scheming and money-hungry boy of his memories had joined Dumbledore’s resistance movement. 

It was Lupin’s turn to laugh now. “They’ve gotten him mixed up with Sirius here. It’s actually not bad for the Order, keeps the _Prophet_ busy reporting complete rubbish rather than the usual half-truths.”

“You look nothing like him,” Regulus protested in surprise, his brother and the boy he remembered were both tall and dark, but surely that was where any comparison ended? Sirius shrugged noncommittally, which just served to make Regulus irritated. Sirius looked every inch a Black, and that lowly musician certainly didn’t. 

“Back to the point,” Lupin continued, his acute sense of when other people were annoyed or uncomfortable apparently kicking in, “what you heard suggests that Voldemort made at least one of his horcruxes when he was a teenager. And we have reasons to believe that the artefact we’re looking for in Malfoy’s possession is the diadem of Ravenclaw, although it could be the sword of Gryffindor as well.”

“Are we sure it’s not both?” asked Sirius, brows furrowed as he leaned back on his chair, tipping it back dangerously. 

“You think he’d want one from each founder?” asked Regulus, biting his lip. That was an idea, of course. 

“Your guess is as good as ours, if not better. But you said he has respect for the founders? All I’ve read about horcruxes states that it’s exceedingly damaging to split a soul, basically you’re making the bit inside you much more volatile and unstable than what it is in an average human,” said Lupin carefully. “It’s why you’re said to end up bonkers if you do it, your humanity is butchered up and no matter how intelligent you are your brain can’t compensate for it. You’re no longer truly human, and as I’ve understood it you end up subhuman rather than superhuman, besides the immortality bit. But I suppose you can interpret that differently, especially if you already lack a conscience. Anyway, even making the two we’ve found must have made him incredibly instable.”

“Is there any way of testing how many he made?” asked Sirius. “Or how old the ones we have are?”

Lupin caught Regulus’s eye in a question, then they both shook their heads. 

“We’ll just have to keep looking, and get the Malfoy one and the basilisk venom in the meantime” said Regulus thoughtfully, trying not to lose hope. They had to do this, follow wherever this winding path decided to take them.


	48. Try to set the night on fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from "Light My Fire" by the Doors.
> 
> This chapter containes a brief description of drunken sex.

Spring had been warm and benevolent up until then, but today was freezing cold and Gideon decided he had to take a warmer coat. Fabian had poetically expressed his sympathies for all the poor spring flowers over breakfast, the ones that were happily blossoming already. A day like this would likely claim lives in the flower kingdom.

Gideon hated having to work without Fabian. Fabian had tried to argue with Moody, told him that it would be better if both Fabian and Gideon went to help Benjy with his lead on where a suspected journalist from _Pure Magic_ was expected to meet a Death Eater, but Moody had said no. Fabian and James were to go with Benjy, and Gideon was to go with Sirius to some remote old ruin from where Podmore had reported a distressing phone call about suspicious behaviour which sounded vaguely magical (almost certainly a false alarm, there had been a lot of them recently). Benjy didn’t like Sirius or James much, but he preferred James and Moody knew that just as well as Gideon and Fabian did. Why Fabian had been picked over Gideon to go with Benjy remained unclear, and Gideon was almost as miserable about those implications as he was about his separation from Fabian. 

He’d been on the receiving end of an extremely sloppy blow-job a couple of nights ago at James’s and Remus’s party, courtesy of Sirius, and was now feeling awkward about it. What if Benjy knew and that was why he had picked Fabian over Gideon? They had gone outside for a smoke in the small hours and afterwards done it in the weird metallic muggle contraption next to the stairs; Sirius had pressed a button with a number on it and there had been a strange sensation as they travelled upwards, locked into the thing. If Gideon’s head hadn’t been pleasantly filled with fuzzy cotton from the drinks he had had, he would have been scared. Then, as his other head was hitting the back of Sirius’s throat, there had been a demure ‘ding’ of a bell, and the doors of the metal box had opened wide, exposing their deed to an empty corridor. Sirius had laughed around him and blindly pushed another button, making the door close and back down they went, adding to the tingling sensations in Gideon’s stomach. 

“Where to, d’you know?” asked Sirius nonchalantly as Gideon opened the door for him. Fabian had left earlier to meet up with Benjy and James at Moody's house before heading out to their stake-out, and Gideon was home alone.

“We’re going to the Lake District,” Gideon said. “Do you want to come in and have a cuppa first or should we just head out, you reckon?”

Sirius grinned wickedly at him, and Gideon cursed internally when he realized what inviting Sirius in sounded like.

“Better not, James made it sound as if Moody wanted us to go check immediately.”

Gideon took Sirius for side-along apparition as he wasn’t quite sure he had gotten the name of the place right. They arrived, stumbling a little, in the middle of a deserted field. Looking around, they could see the remains of a building that had burnt partly to the ground a long time ago and an overgrown dirt road leading away from the ruins. There were some robust-looking stone walls on the other end of the field, however, and that looked close to what had been described to Gideon by Moody. 

They hiked over the uneven field at a fast pace, some of the grass crunched under their feet; the ground frosty. 

“What muggle would have called in a magical disturbance here?” asked Sirius quietly, a question which set Gideon even more on edge. “I mean, it’s clear that nobody lives in that burnt-out building, and I can’t see any other houses.”

“Should we go back?” asked Gideon worriedly, almost cricking his neck as he reflexively tried to look behind him to see if anyone was sneaking up on them. The field was empty.

“Dunno about that. I just think it’s odd, don’t you?”

They were getting close to the stone building now, it was very low, partly underground, and looked as if it reached out in at least two different directions. Alarm bells were ringing in the back of Gideon’s head; something wasn’t right. He spooked easily nowadays, he knew that, but this couldn’t be right.

“Let’s go get backup,” Gideon decided, halting Sirius with an out-stretched arm. “Lily and the new girl Macdonald are supposed to be at Moody’s, let’s go get all of them.”

“Where does he live?” asked Sirius, who still looked as if he’d prefer to go into the building right away. 

“Bugger,” mumbled Gideon unhappily. Scotland was as close as he could say for sure. “We’ll go back to mine, then, Fabian and the others might be back from their thing.”

Sirius looked as if he was about to argue, but then he stretched out his arm and let Gideon take it. Gideon held his breath and tried to twist into apparition. 

It didn’t work.

Sirius looked at him with a raised eye-brow, then twisted his arm so that he was grabbing Gideon’s instead. Gideon watched him close his eyes in concentration and turn on the spot… 

Still nothing. 

They eyed each other in confusion, then Sirius shrugged and let go of Gideon’s arm.

“Guess we’re going in then.”

Gideon gulped down some of his fright and nodded. They started walking again. The ground sloped harshly towards a broad opening in the rock building. Inside it looked very dark.

“Tell you what,” Sirius said innocently, “when we’ve checked this cellar I’ll give you a blowie in the dark. How does that sound?”

Gideon forced out half of a laughter, not sure what to answer. He didn’t think he could get it up in the cold and the dark.

There were two arched doorways once they entered, one straight ahead from the entrance and one to the right. There was a loud dripping of water, but Gideon could not tell which direction it was coming from. Everything lay in nearly complete darkness, and even though his eyes adapted quickly he had an acute sense of his limitations. 

“We’ll have to split up,” whispered Gideon, the full severity of the situation hitting him anew in waves of nausea. Maybe they should try to disapparate again instead?

“You take this first room, I’ll go to the second one. We shout if we need help.”

“Count of 10,” Gideon whispered, voice strangled, but Sirius heard him and gave him a swift nod before moving to the other opening. 

Gideon stood right by his allotted arch, not daring to breathe as he counted. Before he got to the end, there was blasting heat everywhere, and Gideon’s ears were temporarily put out of action only to start ringing like a faulty alarm, while he more felt than heard the blood pound at his temples. The only cause of action he could think of was to enter through the archway, get himself away from the heat as the ground or the walls or perhaps the ceiling shook with the sheer force of fire. He still had his wand, although his hand was so sweaty he was scared he would drop it despite the death grip he was exercising. From his vantagepoint he could just about see the archway Sirius had been waiting outside of. There were enormous, ruby coloured flames stretching all around the arch, and if the height of the flames were impressive it was nothing compared to the heat the flames emitted. Gideon, standing a good 10 metres away, was sweating profusely; hair bristling, and he thought he could feel the skin on his face and hands turn leathery. 

“Got him!” came a gleeful female shout from the other side of the flames and the second archway. Judging by the lethal force the flames were emitting, Gideon could but agree with the unknown Death Eater. 

“One or two?” shouted a voice closer to Gideon, telling him there was someone else at the entrance. This, Gideon noted with relief, was the long-awaited cue for his legs to start working again. He set off at a run, away from the fire, the voices and the fallen colleague, and he ran faster than he ever had in his life. The unknown stone cellar wound and curved, the floor was uneven and wet, and he was continuously aware of being one misstep away from slipping and falling. After a while the tunnel began to slope upwards and he could see faded daylight. There was a shout, whether from right behind him or just in front he wasn’t sure. Whoever it was came too late, as the noise prompted him to experimentally twist into the air and successfully disapparate. 

Next thing Gideon knew, Fabian was slapping his face and crying from fright and relief. 

“I just got back. What happened to you? Have you broken anything?”

Gideon shuffled around on the ground, his legs wouldn’t carry him, and he barely managed to push himself up from the ground; his arms were that void of their usual strength. 

“Can you please take me to Moody, now, Fabian,” he croaked, grasping for his brother’s arms instead. Fabian gave a shaking sob, but as usual his twin knew what to do. Fabian’s muscular arms encircled him and got him up from the ground without issue, and then they were disapparating again, Gideon defenceless and sick but in safe hands. Once they hit the ground, Fabian swooped him up completely and half staggered, half ran towards the house at the other side of the road. They were right next to the river Clyde, and there were a lot of people about. Gideon ignored the passers by who stared and did double takes when they rushed past. Finally, Fabian came to a halt outside a shabby house with a large veranda but little to no garden. There was a sturdy gate and wall encircling it, and everything reeked of protective magic. Fabian dropped him on his unsteady feet and used the hawk-faced door knocker. 

“It’s Fabian and Gideon, this is an emergency!” Fabian said pleadingly to the doorknocker, and Gideon could feel some kind of strong magic activating around them, it felt as if a wave of magic rushed over him. The door clicked open on well-oiled hinges, but they had barely made it inside of the gate before they were faced with Moody and his wand, the latter pointing straight at them. They could see Benjy Fenwick, James Potter and Lily Evans a little way behind him, all with half-heartedly raised wands. No doubt this was all part of Moody’s crazy security measures; the auror was becoming increasingly paranoid. He was one of the people who had never stopped believing there could be a traitor in the Order. Today he had as good as been proven right, Gideon thought.

“What was the name of the sheep behind the bar the first time I met the two of you at the Hogshead?” snarled Moody, eyes beady and his scarred face lit up from the side, throwing his battle wounds into sharp relief. 

“Hector,” groaned Gideon, sagging to the ground as his legs gave up on him.

“It was a female goat,” corrected Fabian simultaneously, and Gideon remembered their confusion that night. Not only had it been frightening to meet a top auror, but they had never received any explanation as to why Aberforth kept a goat in the bar, nor why he’d named her Hector. 

“Sirius!” shouted James from behind Moody, and Gideon’s head snapped up just in time to see Benjy’s and Lily’s eyes widen horribly as realization hit them. 

“He’s dead,” stuttered Gideon, and had to look away from James Potter. At least he tried to look away, James was grasping the front of his robes seconds later, tilting his face up, demanding answers like an angel inexplicably banished from heaven.

“We were ambushed. We couldn’t disapparate, felt like they had blocked the air with magic somehow. We were in a stone cellar, exit behind us and two archways leading to new rooms. We took one arch each, we both counted to 10.” Here James’s grip on his robes hardened. “They blew up the archway he was standing by on 9,” Gideon said and felt his body convulse with the weight of his memories. “There was nothing left when I looked, only huge flames where he had stood. One Death Eater was waiting on the other side of his arch, and one must have been at the exit. I managed to escape through my arch, followed a tunnel until I could disapparate.”

“Who were the Death Eaters?” asked Moody gruffly. James had released his robes and now stood with his back turned to everyone.

“There was a woman, she laughed,” whispered Gideon.

“Bellatrix Lestrange?” suggested Lily quietly, her eyes bright and brim-full of anger and sorrow. She gave him a hand and helped him up, Fabian helped too. Moody and Benjy led the way into Moody’s house, which opened to a long, dark corridor with lots of closed doors on both sides. They entered through the second on the left, after Moody had unlocked it, and were met with a dusty sitting room. There were books everywhere, two cluttered desks, several filing cabinets, and an inordinate number of mirrors on the walls. The windows had metal shutters. 

Gideon ended up on the only sofa in the room as Fabian and Lily did their best to check him for injuries. It took several minutes before anyone spoke, of course nobody wanted to think about what had happened. Eventually, however, there was a groan from Benjy, of all people. They all looked up at the noise, even Gideon.

“Where’s Potter? He never came back in, did he?”


	49. They told me I was going to lose the fight, leave behind my wuthering heights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights".
> 
> Chapter warning for blood and gore.

Red deer were an unusual sight in Chelsea. Richmond Park was not exactly close by, and the elderly couple who spotted the large stag from the embankment had every reason to be surprised, especially since they swore to their friends and family that it had appeared as if out of thin air. There had been a crack like a car backfiring, and then the stag, presumably scared by the noise, had risen from between two parked cars. It had leaped, without hesitation, towards the houses on Cheyne Walk, and as far as the couple could tell it must have jumped into the garden of either number 17 or 19. They had gone up to the houses to inspect, of course, but it had seemingly vanished again by the time the couple got close enough to be able to peer over the walls and the hedges. 

James was so angry he almost stopped caring about his own safety. There was a voice at the back of his head continuously shouting Lily! Lily!, but there were so many other voices at this stage that it was nigh on completely drowned out. Gideon had said that Sirius was dead, probably killed by Bellatrix Lestrange. James hadn’t been able to stand it there a second longer, if he had stayed Gideon might have told him that he’d seen the fire hit Sirius, heard Sirius’s screams of agony as he died, or that he’d seen the burning corpse of his best friend and brother. Gideon had said no such thing, thankfully, and nobody knew Sirius quite like James did. James knew that Sirius couldn’t count. 

As he saw it, there was just an off-chance that Sirius had not been where Gideon thought he had been when they were standing apart counting to 10 and the fire hit. It had sounded as if Gideon had had his back turned, and that was all James needed to hear; he couldn’t stick around to listen in case Gideon said something that would disprove his tentative theory. The voices were shouting in James’s head, telling him Sirius needed to be saved, needed to be found. James did throw on the invisibility cloak once he had transformed back into human form, and he whispered “alohomora” as quietly as he could to the door of number 19, Cheyne Walk. 

The foyer was old-fashioned, dark and not without beauty. It said a lot about the house, it spoke of wealth and magic and hinted at hidden rooms behind mirrors, trapdoors in the floorboards and dark magic bottled away in the corner cupboards. 

James paused in the foyer, heart pounding and wand at the ready. He’d felt nothing as he entered through the front door, he didn’t think there were any detection charms on the door, just on the gate. There was an elaborate staircase in green marble leading up to at least two more floors. And this sort of house was bound to have a cellar. Where would they put a prisoner, waiting for interrogation?

As if on command, there was a sickening yell and vile laughter coming from James’s left. He reacted instinctively and set fire to the curtains in the room to his right, then sent some more ricocheting up the stairs, not caring what his hex would hit. Then he set off a caterwauling charm, one the Marauders had perfected and customized already in their third year of Hogwarts. The animalistic wailings knocked out his own hearing at once as he completely forgot to protect his ears. The extreme loudness meant that it must be heard throughout the house, and this was a very drawn-out variation of the charm which ensured that it would bounce around the house for minutes. It only took ten seconds for Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange to emerge from James’s left with their hands covering their ears, and he saw their mouths forming angry shouts as they headed for the stairs and the room to the right, from where dangerous amounts of smoke were seeping. 

James snuck into the room they had come from, which contained a grand piano and a bar, and to his relief there was a half-open door at the end of the room where they must have come from. There were rough stone steps going down, and James quickly descended into a well-stocked wine cellar. He rounded the first full shelf and found himself face to face with Rabastan Lestrange. James, still invisible, stunned Rabastan more out of reflex than any conscious thinking. 

He rounded one more shelf, and there was Sirius, on his knees, with his back to James. James could have whooped from relief had this not been a mission of stealth, it didn’t even look as though Sirius had been burnt. A "finite incantatem" was all it took for James to release his friend from the specialized body bind hex that had kept him trapped on his knees and with his arms stretched out in front of him at an odd angle. Once Sirius was released, however, James realised that all was not well, his best friend was whimpering from pain, and as he got up close he saw that all of Sirius’s fingernails were missing, bloodied meat all that was left of his fingertips. 

“It’s me,” James whispered before he grasped Sirius under his armpits and dragged him to his feet and threw the cloak over him. There was blood on Sirius’s face, too, but mercifully he attempted to smile, and he could walk. Stopping only to snatch Sirius’s wand from the wine shelf next to them, James held him around the waist as they attempted a run, side by side and trying not to crash into any wine bottles, jumping over Rabastan’s prone body. They took the staircase two at a time and skidded out into the room with the piano. James’s ears were not yet working, but he could tell that the caterwauling charm was still going off. It was a difficult one to stop, as the Hogwarts staff had found out all those years ago. The room on the other side of the foyer was no longer burning by the looks of it, but there was heavy smoke billowing from upstairs, although someone had used a clever charm on the smoke, making it smell of roses rather than asphyxiating fire. James took that to mean that the remaining Lestranges were upstairs putting out the last of the fire. 

“Alohomora!” said James, not hearing himself but the door clicked open nonetheless and they were out. “You need to become Padfoot and jump the fence,” said James, hoping Sirius would be able to hear him. Counting on nobody having the time to look out the window just now, James grasped the cloak of invisibility from over their heads and stuffed it under his robes, transforming almost immediately. The stag’s heavy head twisted around to see if the dog was around, and to his great relief Sirius got the hint and transformed as the stag stared at him. They crouched next to each other, the leggy red deer with the impressive crown of antlers, and the enormous, long haired black dog. The hedge and the stone wall behind it were high, but the property was not warded against animals, just people. Padfoot jumped clumsily onto the wall before he leapt down into the street. Prongs took the garden in two graceful leaps, and then soared high into the air, sailing over the wall, almost crashing into a car that was in the middle of parking. The stag swerved uncoordinatedly to the left, catching the eye of the very stunned driver, and followed the dog that was limping at high speed in front. They turned into the first possible alley, transformed, and without looking back James grabbed onto Sirius for all he was worth and disapparated. 

James was still high on adrenalin when they landed in the middle of the street in Glasgow. He had taken them right outside Moody’s house, which was against protocol and probably broke the statute of secrecy as Moody’s house was on a busy street. It only took one look at Sirius’s mangled fingers for James to start crying, however, and once he started he was useless. Sirius made to grasp him, presumably to calm him down, winced as he was reminded of his missing nails, and stepped forward and kissed James messily on the nose instead. James could smell smoke and feel sticky blood that seemed to originate from a cut under Sirius’s eye as it smeared his forehead and his glasses.

At that point the gate burst open and they were set upon by Lily. It was then that James discovered that his hearing was back, as Lily shouted words of love and abuse at him whilst yanking them into Moody’s house. They were met by Remus and Peter as soon as they got through the door and James could tell through his own tears that they had both been crying. Peter didn’t say a word, but Remus whispered a “thank you” in James’s ear when Lily stopped her shouting to draw breath. Most of the Order was gathered there, staring at them with wide eyes and ready to leave on a rescue mission of their own from the looks of it. Everyone was in their boots and coats, and there were maps rolled out over the tables. 

“You should have taken me!” roared Lily in his ear, and James tried to hug her with one hand, the other still holding on to Sirius’s shoulder, not ready to let go, “you can’t leave me like this, we are a bloody team, James, we go on ill-advised rescue missions together!”

A chair was pulled out for Sirius, and James followed him there, dragging Lily along. Elfrida Bones fluttered around Sirius, still wearing a furry grey hat, gloves and navy-blue coat. She was hovering her wand over his trembling hands, then his face. The cut under his eye had mostly clotted over, but there was a small bit in the inner corner which was still glistening with fresh blood, and under the healer’s wand the cut knitted itself together neatly and the blood from his face disappeared.

Moody was hovering over them asking ridiculous security questions and looking angry when neither had the presence of mind to respond. Gideon Prewett was sitting in a corner, staring at Sirius with disbelieving eyes. Fabian was trying to make him drink some tea. Marlene had found Remus, who was standing nearby, eyes locked on Sirius, and she was trying to hug him and comfort him despite his lack of response. Benjy Fenwick was clenching important-looking documents in gloved hands and staring at Marlene and Remus. 

“Will the fingers require skele-grow, Elfrida?” somebody to James’s left said, and he saw that it was Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore was wearing red earmuffs and lumpy, knitted gloves, and he looked as if he, too, had been ready to brave the cold night to go look for Sirius. Or maybe they had been preparing to go look for him, James realized uncomfortably. 

“His bones are intact, so not quite. There is a sibling potion that is for overnight nail- or teeth growth, and that’s what Mr Black will be having,” explained Elfrida Bones. “It would appear your nails have been torn out from the root with some charmed metal instrument, dear” she continued matter-of-factly, almost kindly, to Sirius. James cried some more, whilst cursing the healer profession and their remoteness to the layman’s experience of illness and injury. "I've cleaned the dirt and the dried blood from them, you just need to refrain from touching anything for now."

“He will heal completely, then?” asked Dumbledore while Moody still shuffled excitably behind him. 

“Yes, he will. Did they use any curses on you, dear?”

Sirius shook his head after some brief hesitation and the healer nodded happily.

“I will go get a bottle of the potion from home, and some dreamless sleep potion as well.”

“I’d like a word with you now, Sirius, if I may,” said Dumbledore kindly. “James, Gideon, if you could come as well, and Alastor.” Moody huffed in apparent relief as his name was mentioned, and he showed the way out of the sitting room and into the room opposite. It was a dining room, and the air was heavy with dust, suggesting Moody rarely threw dinner parties. James held onto Sirius as they walked, he knew Sirius could walk fine but his protective side was difficult to quash down now that it had been brought kicking and screaming to the surface. He tried to wipe his tears once he had sat Sirius down in the chair next to his, however, outwardly attempting to pull himself together. 

Gideon explained what had happened to him again, for the benefit of Sirius and Dumbledore. He also explained the worrying new development of them not being able to disapparate, and James could see that Moody and Dumbledore exchanged worried looks. 

“In your own words, Sirius, can you tell me what happened tonight?” asked Professor Dumbledore. 

As James had suspected, the reason Sirius had survived was that he, unbeknownst to Gideon, had moved into the next room a bit quicker than Gideon thought. The fire had come from Rodolphus or Rabastan Lestrange, who had snuck up on them from the entrance. Bellatrix had been waiting in the room Sirius moved into the second before the fire hit the area around the arch, and Sirius’s cousin had used a full body-bind on him before he spotted her. He had been taken to Chelsea once the Death Eaters had given up on finding Gideon. There, he had been taken to the cellar and asked to turn spy for the Order. When he refused, he had been told that they would torture him until he gave them information on the Order or died. 

“Did they not try legilimency on you?” asked Moody.

“They did. Bellatrix and Rodolphus did.” Sirius stopped to draw a shaking breath, and James could tell that Moody was about to fly through the roof if he didn’t get more soon. What had they seen in Sirius’s mind?

“Bellatrix and I had the same teacher in occlumency and legilimency, believe it or not, and she wasn’t good enough to get past my defences. Rodolphus was a bit better, but I had certain memories that I let him see on purpose. Things I knew would upset him.”

“What sort of memories?”

“Things from my childhood, memories I have of Bellatrix. It was nothing to do with the Order, don’t worry.”

There was a pregnant pause after that, and James fidgeted uncomfortably. Dumbledore was staring at him now, not Sirius, as if he could tell what the memories were if he looked at James intently enough. Maybe he could.

“He saw nothing of the Order, nor anything that is relevant to the safety of Order members? Order members’ houses, names, anyhing of the kind?”

“No.” Sirius looked up defiantly, meeting both Moody’s and Dumbledore’s eye. “I showed him things about his wife he didn’t want to see, made him angry, and he and Bellatrix decided to pull out my fingernails, said they’d make me talk that way. Luckily for me James showed up just as they were done with my last pinkie, or he set the caterwauling charms off then anyway; James has always had excellent timing.”

James had to blink away more tears then which meant he couldn’t tell if Moody and Dumbledore believed Sirius or not. James could tell he was telling the truth, though. 

“You somehow figured out Black was still alive and who had taken him?” asked Moody gruffly. 

“It was the counting, Sirius counts to 10 at the speed a normal person counts to 7,” said James. “And Gideon said one of them was a woman, and I know of the Lestranges. Bellatrix being what she is, I thought she would want to make him suffer before she…” James swallowed on a lump in his throat and continued: “I don’t know how I got through the wards, I think they must have taken them down when they came back with Sirius, and then maybe forgot to put them up afterwards seeing as they were busy. I heard Sirius’s screams from the cellar, and I set fire to some rooms and set off the caterwauling charm.”

“Ah yes, I do remember you boys entertaining Hogwarts with a rather pesky variant of that charm when you were students,” said Dumbledore solemnly while he studied the mittens on his hands. 

“Bellatrix and Rodolphus came running out, I let them deal with the fires, and I stunned Rabastan in the cellar. Had my invisibility cloak with me, I’ve got rather a good one. Anyway, we got out the same way.”

“Who knitted your gloves, Professor?” asked Sirius, some of his normal cheekiness returning if James wasn’t mistaken. 

“They were a Christmas gift from Rubeus,” confided Dumbledore serenely, “although they did get mixed up in the washing and set on a much-too-warm cycle. As luck would have it, they were rather large to begin with, and I think they might even suit me better now.”

“Give our best regards to Hagrid, won’t you, Professor?” said James, catching Sirius’s eye and exchanging a grin. They had become well-acquainted with Hagrid during their night-time excursions in the Hogwarts grounds, which had often taken them into the Forbidden Forest.

There was a curt knock on the door and Elfrida Bones entered with a bottle in each hand.

“You must be in a lot of pain, Sirius, we had better get this over with if you’re done in here? I’ll need you to drink both the nail-regrowth potion and the dreamless sleep potion at the same time, it’s not exactly pain-free to regrow nails. Who is taking you home? The dreamless sleep should give you a good ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

“He’s coming with me and Lily,” said James immediately. There was no way he was letting Sirius out of his sight for the next few hours. 

“Thanks for saving me,” Sirius breathed into his ear, disguising it as a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “I’ll just go tell Remus I’m going to yours for the night,” he said out loud to the room and meandered off to find him, hands carefully in front of him. James took the bottles from Elfrida and mumbled a word of goodbye to Moody and Dumbledore. Moody still looked on edge, presumably on account of the near exposure of Sirius’s knowledge of the Order and the unexpected situation that had led everyone in the Order to be in his house. Dumbledore was saying something kind to Gideon, who looked wrecked. 

Lily was waiting for him just outside Moody’s dining room, and James spent minutes being snogged by her, pressed up against the wall with his wrists pinned to the sides of his head. They were interrupted by a small cough and found Sirius watching them, grinning almost like his normal self. "Need a hand?"

"In your dreams, Black!"

“Whose hand would those be, exactly? We’re going straight home and putting you safely in the guest bedroom. Your hands are having a night off.”

“Worth a try,” said Sirius unrepentantly, and James and Lily took an arm each and led him out to disapparate.


	50. Tell me the thoughts that surround you; I want to look inside your head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Peter Sarstedt's "Where do you go to my lovely?"
> 
> Chapter warning for mentions of peadophilia.

When Remus got back to Mile End he found a statuesque Regulus sitting at the kitchen table. He had his wand in his hand and held it trained on the front door, even as Remus entered through it. 

“He’s alive, he’ll be ok,” Remus said quickly and felt his hand itching to grab hold of his own wand in return. Regulus had not indicated that he regretted his decision to switch sides; quite the opposite, but he had still been a Death Eater, sole purpose in life to hurt people like Remus. And it was generally uncomfortable to have a wand pointed at you when there was a war on.

“Thank Merlin,” mumbled Regulus and let his wand clatter down to the table. He looked exhausted, but then Remus was pretty sure he looked the same.

“Yes,” he agreed, rubbing his hand over tired eyes, “James went rogue behind everybody’s back and rescued him. He was at your cousin’s house.”

“Bellatrix?” asked Regulus.

“Yes. They weren’t exactly nice to him, but he should have his nails back by tomorrow. James and Lily took him to their place for the night.”

“How could Potter get through the Dark Mark ward on Bellatrix’s house?” asked Regulus who, although tired, still seemed to have his wits about him. Unfortunately.

“He’ll have to explain that to you tomorrow,” said Remus thoughtfully. He was reasonably sure the trick had included a stag and a dog, as Death Eaters were unlikely to protect their properties against animals, but that wasn’t a story he wanted to share with Regulus. 

“He’ll definitely be ok?” asked Regulus.

“He will,” said Remus, who was quite sure of it. It would take more than that to break Sirius.

Sirius got back after lunch, apparently having decided to take advantage of Lily’s superior cooking skills when in Godric’s Hollow. Remus gave him a long hug and even Regulus decided that a quick embrace was in order. 

“As good as new,” Sirius said proudly and showed them his hands, where all ten nails were once again present. The cut on his face was barely visible anymore.

“What happened?” asked Regulus and summoned beers for them as they sat down at the kitchen table. 

“Walked into a trap, basically. Not sure yet how they got their intel, but we got a tipoff via a muggle source that lead us to this abandoned property in the Lake District. Moody thinks a Death Eater might have pretended to be a muggle to set it up, but it’s still odd that they knew how to channel it so that it’d get to us. Anyway, there was an ambush courtesy of the Lestranges, and I was taken hostage. Gideon who was with me escaped, but he thought I died in the attack. James wouldn’t believe it, of course, and he came looking for me. Broke into the Chelsea property, set the house on fire, overpowered Rabastan, the works.”

“And how exactly did he get through the protective enchantments?” asked Regulus, looking from Sirius to Remus. “What is it I’m missing?” Remus had an awkward drink of his beer to avoid the question.

“Ah,” said Sirius eloquently, and several seconds ticked by as he tipped his chair back, tempting gravity. Remus wondered why Sirius hadn’t come up with a good lie for this, surely Dumbledore and Moody must have asked him the same thing?

“Yes,” Sirius continued hesitantly, “what I’m going to tell you now is something you can’t tell anyone about, ever. If you do, I’ll make it my next mission in life to hunt you down, chop off your bollocks and choke you with them. Got it?”

Regulus raised a disgusted eyebrow at his brother. “You have my word. I won’t tell a soul about whatever it is.”

Sirius let the chair crash back onto all four legs and then got up from his chair. A second later there was an enormous dog in his place, panting excitably and pushing the chair aside to get closer to Regulus. 

Remus looked on curiously. Regulus looked flabbergasted. The dog shuffled about restlessly until Regulus reached out a hand and touched its head. Padfoot stilled and turned his eyes on him. Regulus stared into the dog’s eyes for several seconds, clearly searching for something he knew had to be there. The dog’s eyes were an uncommon clear grey, and because the eyes were now in the face of a dog they even looked wise. And wise was not a word anyone would normally have used of Sirius or his eyes, but Remus supposed that for a dog even a soul like Sirius’s would appear unusually informed. 

The dog gave a short bark and backed up a few steps and rising onto its hindlegs it morphed gracefully back into Sirius.

“I did not expect that,” said Regulus evenly and Remus hid a smile by taking another draught from his beer. 

“James and I are animagi, and apparently the security around nr 19, Cheyne Walk doesn’t pick up on animals.”

“Impressive,” was Regulus’s reply. “Did McGonagall help you?” he asked next, eliciting a smug grin from his brother.

“Nope. She doesn’t know. Only six people know, and that includes you.”

“When did you do it? And what animal is Potter?”

“Just before my 16th birthday, wasn’t it Moony? And I’m not telling you.”

“Moony,” Regulus repeated curiously, and Remus felt himself freeze before he remembered that Regulus already knew about his predicament. “Were you with him as a dog during the last full moon?”

“Yeah, that’s why we did it in the first place,” divulged Sirius, and Remus felt his cheeks heat up. It was still the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

“Pettigrew too?” asked Regulus, who was putting too many pieces of the puzzle together for Remus’s taste. When nobody answered him, Regulus continued: “Don’t you try to eat them when you’re transformed?”

“Werewolves only hunt humans,” Remus mumbled, he was now blushing furiously. 

“He’s like a strong-willed dog when he’s with us,” said Sirius, seemingly under the impression that this was a compliment, “quite a happy sort as long as he has animal company to keep him entertained.”

“Sounds like a real charmer,” said Regulus dryly. “Makes sense that you’d do it, though, it’s completely illegal to become one, isn’t it?”

Sirius beamed proudly and Remus thought it likely that he thought that this, too, was a compliment. 

“I’ve told them they need to register with the Ministry, but they won’t listen to me,” Remus explained to Regulus. 

“They might send us to Azkaban if we do,” Sirius protested, “and besides, it came in rather handy yesterday. Bellatrix and the two oafs won’t have any clue how I escaped, they’re probably still looking for me in that disgusting house of theirs.”

“What did they do to you when you were there? Since they didn’t kill you, I assume they wanted you to tell them about the Order?”

“No doubt they would have killed me in the end,” said Sirius bleakly. “Asked me to join them, first, but I think that was mainly for a laugh. They did try to get into my head to look for information, you’re quite right about that.”

“I didn’t realize they can perform legilimency,” Regulus said. Remus played nervously with his bottle while he watched Sirius think up a reply. Sirius had kept to the bare minimum earlier when telling him what had happened.

“Cousin Bella is pretty useless at it, but Rodolphus would probably have gotten through if he had had more time,” said Sirius finally. “When I realized that he might break my defences I started thinking about Bellatrix feeling me up when I was young, and there were a few times when she made me watch her have sex with Selwyn, dunno if you remember him. They were an item at Hogwarts, before Rodolphus obviously.” 

Sirius cleared his throat and chugged on his beer bottle for several seconds. Remus realized he had stopped fidgeting as Sirius spoke, scared he would miss anything that was said. Now he didn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands. Regulus seemed equally uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Remus said, feeling that anything he said would be inadequate.

“I’ve mostly forgotten about it, don’t worry,” said Sirius, meeting his eye guardedly. “Lucky I hadn’t completely forgotten though, since Rodolphus went through the roof when he saw it. Turns out paedophilia isn’t a shared interest for them. That’s when he decided I needed softening up before he’d try again, and Bella was thoughtful enough to suggest tearing out my fingernails, one by one. And then James showed up.”

“She tried it with me too,” Regulus said in such a quiet voice that Remus almost didn’t catch it. “Just before Christmas. I got the impression she was enamoured with how young I look. Mother interrupted her though.”

“Cunt,” said Sirius succinctly, and Remus wasn’t sure which woman he was referring to. 

“When should we go to Grimmauld Place to look for the basilisk venom?” Regulus asked. He was pink in the face and looked desperate to steer the conversation off into a new direction. Remus agreed with him, this was plenty of disclosure for one afternoon.

“As soon as possible, I reckon,” sad Sirius. “There’s no guarantee we’ll find any, and we need to start destroying the horcruxes we have. I think I can feel them, sometimes, especially when I’m in the loo. I get all nervous and on edge.”

“Same here,” agreed Remus, who had noticed surplus bouts of self-loathing and -doubt whenever he got close to the hiding place for the horcruxes. “We should try to get the invisibility cloak back before we break in, though,” he decided out loud. 

“I’ll try next time I see Prongs.” Sirius finished his bottle and then took out his wand, conjuring up something resembling a muggle tennis ball which he threw to Remus. Remus fumbled for one panicky second with it, almost dropping it to the ground. When he had a safe grip on it, Padfoot was panting loudly close to his face, tail pounding forcefully on the floor. Remus, who usually refused to play fetch indoors (there were too many breakables, and besides Padfoot took ages to run out of energy), decided that an exception could be made for today. Under the supervision of a wary-looking Regulus, he threw the ball across the room, knocking over a pile of books on the sofa table on the first attempt, and watched the happy black monster of a dog chasing after his bouncy ball.


	51. You're empty holding out your heart to people who never really care how you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title comes from Blur's "Coffe and TV".

Peter’s mother had been mostly bedridden since page upon page on the tube debacle had appeared in the _Prophet_. Mrs Pettigrew was of a nervous disposition and she saw no reason why Peter should do things that made her fret. She told him to think less of politics (as he didn’t have the brains for it and should leave it to the politicians, anyway) and to stop following his old school chums around blindly (let them risk their lives if they could stand to lose them, her Peter was certainly not a fighter and he would just get in the way). This was the way it had always been.

At Hogwarts, Peter had received letters 10 pages or longer from his mother every time McGonagall had seen fit to write to the Marauders’ parents to condemn their behaviour, his mother's letters lamenting his poor judgement and begging for him to think of her poor heart. Professor McGonagall’s and consequently Mrs Pettigrew’s letters had been frequent until the enormity of the Whomping Willow incident, after which their head of house had given up hope on parental reprimands having any effect on them. Peter’s mother had been lulled into a false sense of security and thought it had been just a phase he’d grown out of, at least she had until he moved back home and joined the Order. Peter’s mother was an expert at making him feel guilty about his life choices and living with her all year round made it difficult to avoid a perpetually shame-faced state of mind. The guilt tripping was saved for Marauder- and Order-related things, because when he behaved himself she spent her time belittling his character and his academic achievements. There was no way of winning for Peter. 

Peter spent hours in the mornings and evenings of the week following the fight warming up ready meals or making tea and toast and bringing it to her bedroom on a tray. He would bring the paper as well and try to read it with her like they did on good days. 

Moody had been more upset than pleased with his performance in the tube station. Peter had gotten into the groove of sending around stunning spells, which he had thought was a good thing. Apparently, he had almost hit Moody several times by mistake, and Moody had complained to him about his lack of aim and his erratic spell casting. 

Fortunately, Remus had thanked him profusely and bought him a pint for his troubles (Peter had stunned the Death Eater that had used the cruciatus curse on him) and Lily had complimented him on his bravery too (even though, Peter realized afterwards, she hadn’t actually seen him in action as she had been fighting Voldemort on her own in King’s Cross for most of it, making her comment ring a little bit hollow). James and Sirius hadn’t even acknowledged his contribution, however, in fact Peter was still waiting for James to pull him aside and tell him what a great job he’d done. James always remembered him and looked out for him, how could he have forgotten about it this time?

Peter had dreamed about James last night, in the dream Peter had heroically held out against the Death Eaters who had caught him and tortured him, and James had come to his rescue. In his awoken state he had caught himself wondering if that would have happened if he had been the one caught by the Lestranges in Sirius's stead. Would James have come to his rescue? Peter thought he would, but he would still have felt better about it if James had complimented him on his work in Farringdon tube station. He should be celebrated just like Lily was for saving the muggles (Peter had saved Moony, hadn’t he?) and like James would now be celebrated for saving Sirius. 

At the Order meeting following James’s miraculous rescue mission Moody had clearly been at the end of his tether. Peter had mainly noticed the critique that landed on himself, but nobody could've failed to notice that Moody had been unusually upset with Sirius, Gideon and even James. James’s solo mission had been foolhardy in the extreme, and Peter had no idea how James and Sirius had managed to keep from the others that it was their animagus forms that had saved them. Sirius and Gideon on their end had neglected to send a patronus message when they started to suspect that something was off, which might have saved them when apparating for reinforcement hadn’t worked. They also shouldn’t have split up in their search of the suspicious cellar, something Moody was really hammering in now. This could never happen again. Moody was also insisting they use security questions with each other from now on. Whenever different Order members met they should ask each other a random question only the real person would know the answer to. Peter was certain nobody would follow that particular rule; it just seemed superfluous. The traitor was already amongst them, as far as Peter could tell, and security questions would tell them fuck-all about who it was. 

On top of that, Peter thought that the remaining Order was finally realizing that there truly was a spy in the Order. There was no other way of explaining how the Death Eaters had known to give Podmore of all people a tipoff, as Podmore had not fully participated in any fights and should be an unknown name to the Death Eaters. Yet one of Voldemort’s supporters had managed to use a muggle telephone, dialled the emergency number, magically gotten Podmore’s line, and reported something that sounded suspicious enough to catch Podmore’s notice. Moody was the most paranoid man out there, and his distrust in everyone was easy to spot by now. Surely other people would follow suit. 

When Peter got back from a challenging shift at Quality Quidditch Supplies, his mother was finally up. He should have guessed it as it was bingo night at the local muggle pub, and Mrs Pettigrew always went there with one of her cousins and one of the neighbours. 

Peter found himself at the Leaky Cauldron soon after his mother had left for her pub, ordering gooseberry cider and exchanging polite words with Tom behind the bar. Peter had expected to spend the evening on his own (he’d sent an owl each to James and Lily and to Remus and Sirius, but received no reply at such short notice), but he spotted Benjy and one of the twins at a table, and decided that it would be more awkward to ignore them and sit at his own table than to walk over and sit with them. He didn’t have anything against Fenwick, anyway, that was Sirius and James (and now maybe Remus as well). Fenwick’s reaction to Moony had been unfortunate, of course, but quite predictable. Peter knew well how most people felt about werewolves, and although Remus was as harmless as they came, Peter didn’t think that he could expect other people to be as accepting of him as the Marauders and Lily had been. Most werewolves were supposedly bloodthirsty villains with little humanity left, at least that’s what Peter had read in the papers and learnt in school, and the other Order members had a right to their opinions. Sirius and James felt differently, Peter knew they were still convinced that the stigma surrounding werewolves was unfair and needed to be fought, but they would likely learn in time that it was a losing battle. Remus was already resigned to his fate anyway, so what good would it do to make a song and dance about it?

“Hullo lads, mind if I join you?” Peter asked nervously as he reached Benjy’s and Fabian’s table. He could see it was Fabian now that he was up close. This near to the table he noticed that the two men must have used a charm to prevent eavesdropping, he could almost feel the heavy sound barrier in the air, and he caught the tail end of a conversation that appeared to be on the subject of Dedalus Diggle.

“Pettigrew! What a pleasant surprise,” Benjy said without looking at him and proceeded to gulp down some butterbeer. Fabian gave him a genuine smile, which made him feel wanted enough to sit down with them. 

“Have you heard about the new development after the tube fight?” asked Fabian of him. Peter shook his head expectantly. “Benjy heard it straight from Moody. Apparently, the whole fight we had was partly a distraction to let Voldemort roam free inside King’s Cross station. He killed lots of muggles there, of course, plenty more than what died in Farringdon, but he also put a curse on the barrier into platform 9 3/4. The barrier sealed itself against muggleborns and injured two who tried to get through it quite badly. The Ministry has been on it all week, trying to counter the curse, train traffic's been in chaos. They had senior cursebreakers over and everything, but nobody could figure out how to lift it. As a last resort they called in Dumbledore, and, being the greatest wizard of our time, he obviously managed to lift the curse. Moody said that the barrier tried to curse Dumbledore, too, but he got away with just a wound on his leg and saved the day as usual.”

“Lucky we have him on our side,” agreed Peter.

“Why wouldn’t he be on our side?” asked Benjy, sounding cross, and Peter felt the immediate need to backtrack.

“Oh, I reckon it was something I read. About his father hating muggles, or something like that.”

“Sounds like something _Pure Magic_ would write to try and turn people against Dumbledore”, sneered Benjy, and Peter decided it was better not to respond.

“How is Sirius doing after his ordeal?” asked Fabian, clearly thinking the same and grasping around for a change of subject. 

“Fine, I s’pose. James got him out in the nick of time from what I understand.”

“Does he really know occlumency?” asked Benjy sceptically. “No offence, but it’s rare and advanced magic, and he doesn’t strike me as someone who would be able to close his mind under pressure.”

“I don’t think he’s great at it,” said Peter, to his surprise he felt defensive even though it was Sirius they were talking about. But Sirius was one of his oldest friends, and he didn’t feel Benjy had the right to judge him. “It sounded as if the Lestranges weren’t very good at legilimency either, I mean how many people have you heard of that can actually master it? But I know Sirius had some lessons in occlumency, I can actually remember him complaining about having to practise for it back in Hogwarts.”

“Voldemort’s supposed to be an excellent legilimens, lucky he wasn’t there,” mused Fabian, his comforting voice smoothing over the slight agitation in Peter’s and Benjy’s voices.

“Very lucky,” agreed Benjy immediately, “Black would never have been able to stand up to him, and Potter would no doubt be dead too.”

Peter shuddered violently, but he couldn’t think of anything to say in Sirius’s or even James’s defence. Voldemort personally catching any one of them would mean the end. 

“Is it true Bellatrix Lestrange was a Black? I can’t understand why she would torture her own flesh and blood, I think there’s something off about what happened,” Benjy continued carelessly. 

“I’ve seen her fire the killing curse in his direction before, I don’t think she considers him family,” said Fabian, surprising Peter by coming to Sirius’s rescue. Benjy looked annoyed and turned to Peter, apparently expecting him to pick a side. 

“His family doesn’t really acknowledge his existence,” said Peter. “She’s his cousin, though, you’re right about that.”

They all drank from their pints, conversation stalling uncomfortably. Peter wished he’d stayed in tonight. 

“Thanks to Potter and Black, I still have to follow Rita Skeeter around like a bloody shadow,” Benjy told them after a while. “Moody insists on believing that she works for _Pure Magic_ , although I’m quite sure it's wrong. My time would be much better spent looking into Alecto Carrow, although she’s a hard one to track down. And I’ve got a promising lead on someone who might be connected to the Death Eaters at the _WWN_.”

"It's a proper waste of your abilities."

Peter moved restlessly in his seat and wondered if this was what discussions between Benjy and the twins were always like. Benjy complained and the audience was supposed to listen to him and stroke his ego. What had Marlene seen in Benjy? That one still stung. Of course, Benjy was better-looking, but if this was what the conversation was like, then throwing Peter over couldn’t really have been worth her while. 

“I should get back to my mum,” he said, interrupting Benjy who was still talking about the difficulty of tailing Rita Skeeter, who was quickly becoming a famous figure in wizarding Britain. Benjy waved him off and continued talking, and Fabian clapped him on the shoulder.

Peter left the warmth of the Leaky and apparated home. His mother was home from the bingo, and she’d brought two friends with her. Peter spent the rest of the evening with the middle-aged witches, answering questions on his love life and his spare time evasively, favouring the much safer topic of his day job at Quality Quidditch Supplies. This fortunately bored the witches no end. Remus sent him an owl back, saying he was busy tonight and couldn’t make it to the Leaky. James didn’t even do that, and Peter continued to long for his friends.


	52. Death or glory becomes just another story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title comes from "Death or Glory" by the Clash.

Lily had a busy week behind her. The wedding was a few short weeks away, and Lily was almost tempted to give the whole endeavour up as a bad job, run away with James and get hitched on a remote Caribbean island instead. Having a wedding was supposed to be fun, and yet Lily felt as if all the giddiness and excitement had been taken away from them. There were too many things to do, too many things that could go wrong, too many plans that were bang-on certain to go tits up because they didn’t know the first thing about what they were doing. 

She was brewing more potions, many new ones, mostly for the Order but some for private use. Recent events suggested that their needs in this department were increasing.

There had been three funerals to attend, which she had done despite the awkwardness arisen from not knowing any of the dead people very well. The first two were for the new Order recruits who had perished on their very first mission. As Lily had been their prefect and Head Girl once upon a time she had deemed it her duty to go, even though other Order members had been discouraged from attending (nobody wanted to draw attention to the Order; that the drop-outs had joined was a badly-kept secret and there might be Death Eaters spying on the funeral trying to figure out which of the guests were in the Order). The third funeral was that of Dante Woodcroft, who had been the proprietor of the Three Broomsticks before Madam Rosmerta took over. Everybody Lily knew and their mother had attended this funeral as the wizarding population took their brews and their public houses seriously. Woodcroft had been found in his rocking chair by the MLE, dead and with the Dark Mark floating above his Hogsmeade residence. Nobody was quite sure what he had done to offend the Death Eaters.

James’s rescue mission and Sirius’s capture had already been pushed to the back of her mind, same as the fight in the tube station. She had been involved in two further Death Eater altercations since then, had been sent out on a few missions with James and Sirius while Fabian and Gideon had been regrouped with Benjy Fenwick. She was supposed to act as the voice of reason for James and Sirius since they clearly didn’t listen to anyone else. Not that Sirius listened to her, but he did listen to James (sometimes) and James adhered to what she said (mostly), which Moody at long last had realized was his only chance if he wanted to keep those two in line. Moving around with the pair of them meant fighting no matter how careful she tried to be, however. Sometimes trouble found them and sometimes one of them sent off the first jinx before she had the time to assess the situation, and subsequently they all had to fight their way out. Still, she liked to think that her involvement made them marginally less stupid.

James had gotten off lightly after his improvised solo mission in Chelsea, mostly on account of Dumbledore being impressed with his actions. Sirius was in the line of fire, though, both from Moody and from certain members of the Order. Lily was under the impression that some of them didn’t quite believe that he hadn’t spilt Order secrets to his cousin, and some seemed to think that he might be a double agent despite the obvious torture he had suffered at their hands. It was infuriating, but for once Lily was at a loss with how to resolve the situation. She was used to having all the answers but convincing people who were older and supposedly smarter than her about Sirius’s allegiances had her stumped. 

The Order was getting increasingly paranoid with each other and Lily hated it. For maybe the only time in her life she wished she could be more like James, more trusting. Watching some of the other Order members avoid looking each other in the eye and hedge around questions during meetings was awful. After the last Order meeting, little Dedalus Diggle had snarled at Mary for asking him about the protective enchantments he and Remus had developed, as if they weren’t for all the Order to use.

A related issue was the unresolved questions surrounding Remus’s secret missions. She hadn’t been stupid enough to tell James what she knew, but she did wonder if maybe Sirius knew what he was up to and was shielding him, erecting smoke screens to keep James from seeing clearly. Maybe she should talk to Sirius.

Severus Snape was someone Lily had tried not to think about ever since their final falling-out in fifth year. She had been told, in no uncertain terms, by Benjy Fenwick that Severus was working for the Death Eaters, brewing potions for them, in fact doing much the same work for the Death Eaters as she did for the Order. Dumbledore had written her a letter (which was a first), asking innocently if she had been in touch with him at all. Of course she hadn’t, and that’s what she had written in response. She wasn’t thick, she knew that he was prodding her towards getting back in touch with Severus. There was a reason she had cut him out of her life, though, and she had no intention of reaching out to him. Dorcas (rest her poor soul) had told her about Professor Dumbledore’s belief that Severus might switch sides, given the right leverage. Said leverage, presumably, was Lily’s friendship, but she was not giving that back to someone who had used it all up. Some things were unforgivable in her book and calling her a mudblood and refusing to acknowledge her place in his life in front of a crowd of their peers had been just that. Unforgiveable.

In the current chaos of her life, Lily had been beyond grateful when a handwritten little note had arrived one morning, inviting her for afternoon tea. She had wasted no time accepting it. This time, Bathilda Bagshot had baked cauldron cakes, and they were just a tasty as the toadstool teacakes she’d brought when they first met.

Bathilda’s sitting room was dark and homely and smelt of old people and baking. There were candlesticks floating in the air and on most surfaces in the room. Lily sat facing a large chest of drawers covered in silver-framed black-and-white photographs. Most of them were of the same beautiful long-haired young man who laughed uproariously in almost all of the pictures. Lily thought it must be either a relative or maybe an old flame of Bathilda’s. In some of the photos there was another young man, almost as good-looking, someone who looked oddly familiar. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask who it was when Bathilda decided to tell her all about someone called Tom Riddle.

“It was after my time at Hogwarts, you comprehend, but I think it’s important to tell you what little I know. Few people listen to old biddies like me, especially old biddies with a penchant for boring people to death with wizarding history.”

“I’d be happy to listen,” said Lily although she hadn't caught what Bathilda wanted to talk about, “as a matter of fact I think it’s an honour to talk to the most celebrated historian in the wizarding world. I think any muggleborn would agree that _Hogwarts a History_ is an invaluable book. We come to Hogwarts completely unprepared for our lessons, unprepared for the whole of wizarding society actually, but reading some of your books before arriving gave me at least some idea of what to expect, and I owe you a thank you for writing so engagingly about Hogwarts and about magical history.”

“You’re quite welcome, love. Where was I?” Bathilda flicked her wand and the old-fashioned copper kettle swished around the table pouring them some more tea. “Yes, about Tom Riddle. He was a student during what the muggles refer to as the second world war. We, of course, tend to talk about Grindelwald’s era.” Bathilda’s hands shook and she spilt some tea into her saucer as she tried to look behind her, towards the fireplace and the chest of drawers, stiff old neck not quite cooperating. Bathilda sighed and gave Lily a crooked and meaningful smile. She then poured some more of the tea from the cup into her saucer, on purpose this time, and slurped noisily as she drank from the saucer. “Yes, Tom Riddle was a very clever boy. I’ve periodically corresponded with Albus and Horace and Cuthbert, and they all remember him as exceptionally bright, although I think they’d all rather forget that they used to teach him.”

Lily nodded in understanding, although she was not yet on track with who they were talking about. 

“His mother was a Gaunt, of Little Hangleton. The family have since died out, but it might be important that that’s where he hailed from. Cuthbert told me he came asking about the family, although he was tight-lipped about his ancestry. Riddle isn’t a wizarding name, you see, and Cuthbert told me that some of his fellow students tried to bully him for having a muggle father. It soon stopped. I suppose he would have been a formidable character even as a first year student.”

“Riddle is not a common name amongst muggles, either,” said Lily politely, trying to forget about the people who had tried to bully her for her muggle heritage. She was just about to ask who this Tom Riddle was when Bathilda cut across her.

“I think we can agree that he is an unusual man in many regards. I hope I haven’t bored you by telling you this? I won’t apologize if I have, because I do believe that history plays an important part in resolving the crises of the day. We must understand the past to prevent it from repeating itself, which I’m sure you’ve heard, and sometimes the past can make us understand why someone is acting a certain way. I believe this is very much the case here.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Lily sweetly. “Thanks for telling me. Is it true you knew James’s grandfather?”

Bathilda sat back in her chair with a cauldron cake held aloft, left corner of her mouth pulling upwards into a smug smile. 

“Henry Potter, his name was. Harry’s what I knew him as. Used to say that anyone who supports the continued protection of and cooperation with muggles could call him Harry. Worked for the Wizengamot, you see.” Bathilda squinted curiously at Lily as if she was deducing what Lily might make of James having a close ancestor that had technically fought for the rights of her ancestors. It did indeed please Lily to know that James, despite his supposed blood purity, came from a family that probably would have accepted her into their fold a hundred years ago as well as today. Lily tried to put this into the smile she gave Bathilda and hoped that the old woman had mind-reading propensities. 

“Was he handsome?” she asked and reached for another cauldron cake, grateful that the subject had changed to something she could follow. 

“Hair as you wouldn’t believe,” stated Bathilda, voice hoarse and brittle. “He was very energetic and a great speaker. Not just politics either, when he came to see me we would talk about teaching, which is what I did briefly in my youth.”

“You were a professor at Hogwarts?” 

“For two years. I wrote most of _Hogwarts, a History_ there while I taught the history class. Cuthbert, Professor Binns you know, was taking a couple of years off. He was trying to write an accurate historical record of the goblins of Switzerland. Famous for the old treasure vaults they oversee in the Alps, but very secretive, as you may know. Lived with them while he was gathering the material for his book, and of course he died soon after he returned to Hogwarts. Never did finish his magnum opus, and they do say that’s the reason why he wouldn’t move on. Not that he can get that book of his finished as a ghost, either, can’t write nor handle the hundreds of pages of material he gathered in Switzerland, poor dear.”

“I had no idea,” said Lily politely.

“It’s a great shame as I’m sure you can appreciate, love. There is certainly a gap in the market for a comprehensive history on European goblins.”

Lily kept a straight face while she nodded, helped along by the cauldron cakes which she was stuffing her face with. They were delicious. 

“Tell me more about Henry Potter,” she suggested as Bathilda gazed off into space, brilliant mind apparently busy with the elusive history of goblins.

“Yes. I don’t mind telling you that I was quite taken with him. Strapping young man, you see. Brilliant wit and so very passionate about muggle rights. Sent the old heart aflutter. I did my best to keep him around, but he made it clear from the start that he was in love with someone else. Bright girl she was; Imelda de Montmorency. Half Irish and half French, Harry found her exotic, I suppose. Came from a long line of inventors, and, come to think of it, she was a ginger like yourself.”

Lily, whose red hair was so dark that she rarely got called ginger, smiled encouragingly at Bathilda to get her to continue with the story.

“He was besotted with her, but I got to have my fun with him first. She took some time convincing he was worthy of her. She was a true eccentric in many ways, and all three of their children came out that way. The youngest girl died in a freak accident involving a racing broom and two pumpkins. She was one of the first broomstick designers for the Cleansweep company, and it was all very sad at the time.”

Lily tried valiantly to look mournful about James’s aunt’s demise, but she didn’t think she made a good job of it.

“The middle daughter was a professional quidditch player, quite successful too as I remember it. When her career came to an end she retired to the highlands with thirteen cats. They believe she was trying to teach them how to play quidditch; the _Prophet_ wrote an engaging reportage at the time. Two teams with herself continuing in the role of seeker for one of the teams. And then there’s Fleamont, who you will have met, dear. He got into a lot of trouble as a young man, quite a clever duellist you see. But once he calmed down and met Euphemia he followed in his mother’s footsteps. Became an inventor like her, but in the field of potions. Invented _Sleekeazys_ , ironic considering that barnet on his son’s head. Does he ever use it?”

“Never,” said Lily. 

“I thought that might be the case,” said Bathilda sagely. 

“Did you find someone else after Mr Potter?” asked Lily.

“I’ve had my romances,” conceded Bathilda with something that might have been a wink, although her crooked face made it difficult to tell. “Alas the family life was never for me. My sister moved to Germany, or the Weimar Republic as it was known back then, and her son and later his child used to come over here in their youths, just for the summer to learn English, you know. But that’s all the family I’ve ever had.”

“You’ve been a woman of academia instead,” suggested Lily, and Bathilda looked pleased with that description. 

“What about the beautiful one with the motorbike?” asked Bathilda, and now she definitely winked. “Are you sure you’ve picked the right one for yourself?” Lily grinned back at her.

“You mean Sirius? He’s a nightmare. He’s James’s best friend, they’re like brothers. More than a little bit of a lady’s man, if that’s what you’re asking. Thinking of jumping into a new romance?” 

Bathilda cackled excitedly and changed the subject.


	53. When I grow up I'll be stable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chpter title is from the song "When I Grow Up" by Garbage. 
> 
> Mentions of character death in the chapter.

Sirius woke up struggling uselessly against an imagined bodybind curse and with Bellatrix’s laughter ringing in his ears. He was nauseous and shivering all over and his legs were cramping. The sweat on his body was rapidly cooling, his sleeping partner must’ve stolen the covers, or maybe he’d kicked them off. Bellatrix was not in the room and he tried to collect himself, heart beating at a relentlessly aggressive pace. The woman beside him made a contented sleeping noise. The electric apparatus that showed the time in numbers said 07:31. Sirius couldn’t remember if that meant five thirty or seven thirty in muggle time. 

He stroked the cold, wet wrist of his left arm. His parents hadn’t given him a watch on his seventeenth birthday, and he’d told the Potters not to bother, either. If he wanted a watch he could buy one for himself now that he was his own master. They hadn’t understood what it meant to him, but unlike his own parents Euphemia and Fleamont had always respected his wishes. It had been an important standpoint at the time; a reminder that he was free from the yoke of his parents’ demands. Besides, the idea of a watch marking his decent into adulthood was laughable to him. It was not how you became an adult, he might never grow up properly but at least he knew that family traditions were not going to do the trick. 

Sirius reached down to the floor and grappled with his trousers until he felt his wand. He needed to wash, but once he had his wand in hand he decided against casting a cleansing charm. The one trait he and Peter Pettigrew shared was that their magic tended to come out a bit on the strong side. (James’s was always perfectly tailored to the situation, and Remus’s was usually just shy of the full thing, lest he overdo or offend whatever or whomever he was charming or transfiguring.) Sirius had a temper and a never-ending resource of pent-up energy. His magic was a force of nature, which was usually a good thing. Not with cleansing charms on the skin, however, as they tended to scrub his pores raw. 

He got into his clothes without washing and moved to pull the duvet over his sleeping companion. She was stretched out luxuriously with a lot of her olive-hued skin on show. Her hard, peppery nipples made her look cold and Sirius felt some small amount of protectiveness towards her. She had wanted him to be sweet and loving last night, which went against the norm of his night-time escapades. He had complied to the best of his abilities, semi-consciously mimicking how Euphemia had hugged him when he had arrived scared and bruised on her doorstep in the middle of the night all those years ago. This muggle woman had wanted to suck on his fingertips as they fucked, and it had triggered all kinds of frightening memories. He’d told himself it was like being thrown off one of Hagrid’s thestrals; you had to get back up immediately or you’d lose. Much like with Hagrid’s thestrals it was also easier when you could see the beast for what it was rather than just know there was something invisible there. When he was younger there had been any number of things that had triggered a sense of panic in him and he hadn’t understood what or why and he had raged against his fears rather than worked them out. He knew better now. He would not let his twisted family win the fight over his mind.

Sirius left the muggle flat and apparated as soon as he was out of sight. Before he got back to his flat the mirror in his pocket shouted his name and he fished it out quickly to placate James. He’d promised James he would remember to carry the mirror with him from now on, and James had checked in on him several times per day since he’d had to be rescued like a wayward toddler from Bellatrix's clutches. It was infuriating to have someone be this protective of him and the last (and only) time it had happened before was when he had first moved in with the Potters. But James had stopped acting like a mother hen soon enough, and Sirius hoped he would stop doing it now too once he’d had his fill of Gryffindor chivalry. He promised James he’d be over later, and his best friend seemed pleased enough with that. 

“Moody wanted to talk with you again,” said Remus when Sirius entered the flat. Remus wasn’t normally an early riser, but ever since Regulus moved in he’d made a point of getting up at the same time. The lack of trust had been obvious. Now they were both drinking tea and eating toast and had split the _Prophet_ between them. It certainly looked closer to domestic bliss than what it had during those first volatile weeks of Regulus’s stay. Sirius grunted in reply and got undressed in the doorway to the bathroom. The washing machine in the kitchen (another excellent muggle machine Remus had insisted they needed) looked almost full as he made his clothes soar into it with a flick of his wand.

“Do you have to do this in front of us when we’re eating?” asked Regulus who was pointedly staring at the sports section of the paper. 

Sirius was too tired to preen or do a little dance for his brother’s benefit and headed for the shower instead, not dignifying him with a reply. Come to think of it, neither Remus nor Regulus tended to walk around the flat naked. Sirius wondered what their problem was. He ran out of the bathroom in dogform once he was clean and dry, panting excessively loudly and happily to try and annoy Regulus. His brother predictably ignored him, by sighing loudly and pretending to look at the ornate silver watch on his wrist. Sirius went over to the washing machine to put it on, sensing that Remus would complain about his lack of contribution to the housework if he didn’t. Remus was already standing by the washing machine as he changed into human form, confirming his suspicions. Sirius stuck his hand into the cardboard box that held the soap that would go with the clothes in the machine. He threw in a fistful with the same motion that he threw floo powder in the fireplace. The consequences were much less dramatic.

“New tattoo?” asked Remus, and Sirius gave his body a perfunctory check before he remembered what he had gotten to mark his recent escape. There were some artful red flames on his shoulder now, and if you looked carefully you might spot a phoenix in them. 

“More tasteful than the last one, thought you would approve,” said Sirius. 

“Didn’t realize you wanted my approval,” said Remus, looking amused and sceptical. 

“What’s the one you have where the Dark Mark would go?” asked Regulus, who had decided to acknowledge him now. Sirius pushed his left arm towards him waiting for him to touch the runes. Of course Regulus was too skittish to willingly touch another human being and he frowned as he kept his distance, trying to decipher the runes. Sirius pressed his own finger to the runes and “muggle fucker” became visible. Regulus let slip a very short and horrified laugh, then looked slightly nauseous. 

“You’re so juvenile,” Remus told him fondly, and Sirius realized Remus was referring to him and not to his brother. “I don’t think Moody’s joking around by the way, better get your kit on and see what he wants.”

Sirius muttered something unkind about slave drivers, but he knew there was a real risk Moody would show up at their doorstep unless he answered the summons. He dressed in black muggle clothes and apparated to Glasgow. Everyone including Sirius knew where Moody lived now, which must be odd for the paranoid and secretive auror. Once the doorknocker let Sirius in he was faced with Moody and his wand.

“What item on my desk did you and Potter transfigure without my permission when you were last in my house?”

“A sneakoscope,” said Sirius quickly, eyeing the wand in Moody’s hand, “turned it into a snow globe with a bald puffskein inside.” James had had nothing to do with the aforementioned transfiguration, but as Moody didn’t know that Sirius was happy for the blame to be evenly distributed between the two of them. 

Moody beckoned him forwards with his wand hand and Sirius stepped into the murky corridor. Moody unlocked the door to his sitting room and they stepped in. Benjy Fenwick was there, looking mean and smug in pressed indigo robes. Sirius ignored him and sat down on the sofa, taking up as much space as he felt like, which was a lot. 

“There was a gruesome discovery earlier this morning,” said Moody, who remained standing at an even space between Sirius and Benjy, “a defiled corpse turned up on the street in Diagon Alley.”

Benjy was staring intently at Sirius as Moody spoke. Sirius scowled at him, not caring a bit if he was, indeed, juvenile. 

“The corpse has been identified as a miss Yaxley. There was a message painted on the pavement next to her body.”

“Ruth or Celeste?” asked Sirius, who had a pretty good idea about what the answer would be. He also felt significantly less like an unruly child now. 

“Ruth Yaxley,” clarified Moody. “Fenwick here has suggested that you might be able to throw some light on the message.”

“What’s the message?” asked Sirius heavily. 

“’This is what happens to slags who fornicate with bloodtraitors and Order members’”, Moody recited. 

“Fuck,” said Sirius quietly and rubbed his hand over his eyes and face. He’d forgotten to shave and his jaw bristled against his soft palm. 

“You were seen coming out of her house a few weeks ago,” said Benjy calmly, although his eyes glinted in triumph. Sirius wondered what there was to feel triumphant about if a (mostly) innocent woman had been killed and left out in the street as a sick threat. 

“I’ve slept with her twice,” said Sirius reluctantly, “or three times, can’t remember. Met her in the Grumpy Bowtruckle, although I’ve probably met her before at parties when I was a child. She was seeing Rabastan Lestrange, and her brother was a Death Eater, as we all know. My plan was to ask her about them, about what they were up to, but she didn’t tell me anything useful. I’ve no idea how the Death Eaters found out about it, though, obviously I didn’t tell anybody, and I can’t imagine she was shouting from the rooftops that she had sex with me.”

“As I said, you were seen coming out of her flat in Knockturn,” said Benjy. “Maybe you should’ve been more careful then. Or maybe you shouldn’t have ‘fornicated’ with someone like her in the first place. It’s not a line any other Order member has felt the need to cross.”

“I didn’t realize I was that recognizable,” protested Sirius angrily, “and if I’d have gotten information out of her you lot would be saying it was well worth it!”

“Would not,” said Benjy in a bored voice. "You do realize that it's probably your poor occlumency that let the Death Eaters know what you did with Yaxley?"

"They saw nothing of the sort!" Sirius wanted to thump him, but Moody was still there. 

“That's impossible to know for sure, but we needn't speculate. There's no good in crying over spilt potion. I will say you’ve acted extremely irresponsibly, and not for the first time,” Moody growled. “I take it you were at least clever enough not to tell her anything about yourself or the Order?”

“Of course I bloody well didn’t.”

“In that case you can see yourself out. Evans has the location I want you to go to today. No more mistakes from you, you hear me?”

Sirius nodded curtly and left without looking at either of them. Benjy Fenwick was a prick, and it was probably thanks to him and his big mouth that the rumour of who Ruth had shagged had spread in the first place. Sirius knew exactly what the Lestranges had seen in his mind, and Ruth wasn't it. Poor Ruth. Sirius apparated with a loud crack, pushing down the guilt as far into his stomach as it would go. He threw his fist into an old oak upon arrival, healed his knuckles and walked the quaint cobblestone road through Godric’s Hollow.

“Padfoot! Come on in, mate.” James was happy to see him as usual, and Sirius didn’t bother to plaster a fake smile onto his face. He told James about what had happened (leaving out the real reason he’d shagged Ruth) and then they abused Benjy together for a good half hour. By the time Lily (bearing a massive platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice) and Freya (who’d caught a mouse she tried to leave on the chair next to James as her contribution to their lunch) joined them Sirius was in good spirits again. 

“I heard they held Regulus’s funeral?” Lily asked as they were all seated and the mouse had been vanished to the cat’s great dismay.

“Yeah, I got a letter from Andromeda saying they think he was killed on a Death Eater mission,” said Sirius. He saw Lily and James exchange a glance, and he wondered if they had heard the rumours about Regulus getting cold feet and subsequently murdered by the Death Eaters. Andromeda had heard such a rumour from somewhere, after all. “Probably best he went before he got in any deeper,” Sirius continued lightly. James nodded and Lily gave him a sad smile. 

“Have you written your best man speech already?” asked James, and Sirius grinned, grateful for the subject change. 

“No, but I should probably start working on it. It’s less than three weeks from now, isn’t it?”

“As long as you don’t mention the incident with the acromantulas you’re fine. I know it makes for a fab story, but it would get so many people in trouble if the truth came out. Better leave out what happened last year in the back room of the Hog’s Head, too.”

Sirius nodded in agreement.

“We’ve hired the church hall in my hometown,” said Lily. “It’s not exactly a picturesque place, but with my relatives and old friends coming we can’t have it anywhere too magical. My Mum and Euphemia are overseeing the decorations, and we have a local muggle band booked for the after party.”

“We’ve got the hen party and stag do next weekend,” said Sirius.

“Unless Moody decides we all need to do reconnaissance instead.”

“That’s why they’re on different nights. He can do without some of the girls on Friday and some of the lads on Saturday.”

Sirius leaned back contentedly in his chair. Freya eyed him attentively from the other side of the table. She was sitting on her own chair next to James, her yellow eyes just able to peer over the table. Sirius kept eye contact with her and tipped the chair backwards. He saw her tail shimmy as she wiggled her bum, readying herself for the great leap. James yelped in surprise as the cat soared over the table, not dissimilar to a flying squirrel, and landed smoothly on Sirius’s chest, claws sinking into the soft cotton of his Black Sabbath t-shirt. Sirius hugged the cat to his chest, cradling her almost fondly. She spat and hissed at him and squirmed free within seconds. Not that type of friends yet, Sirius concluded as she streaked out of the room, a sleek hairball of hurt dignity. 

“She’ll take to you yet,” said Lily, treading the fine line between ridicule and commiseration. 

“She already has, she’s just in denial,” said Sirius decisively. 

"We better be off now, Moody wants us in Hogsmeade today. There's been some disturbances around the Three Broomsticks."

Sirius eyed the other two as they cleared the table. Lily seemed very happy to come with him and James on their missions, and the twinge of jealousy he had felt when it was originally decided upon had abated. He still had James, and Lily coming with didn't change that. Deciding it might be quite fun to go back to Hogsmeade, even if it did mean disguising himself and James heavily to stay safe, Sirius got up from the table and almost tripped over the cat who had snuck up on him. Almost, but not quite.


	54. I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title comes from "Disorder" by Joy Divison.

The Burrow had sprouted yet another floor since they’d last visited, making the rickety house even taller. Gideon was in the kitchen holding Fred and Fabian was playing with George on the floor. They’d been made joint godfathers of the twins, and Molly was using this as a form of blackmail to get them to babysit more often. As Fred and George weren’t even a year old yet it was difficult to fulfil any godfatherly duties; all Molly’s set of twins did was bawl and burp and giggle nonsensically. They had mastered seven words between them, which was nowhere near enough to let any grown-ups know why they were unhappy or happy. Gideon had noticed that Fabian spoke rather a lot to both babies, but he didn’t feel comfortable doing so himself. What if he said something inappropriate and they remembered it?

They had brought Benjy along today, and he was deep in conversation with Arthur about echo sounding. Arthur was thinking of installing the technology in his muggle car, but Benjy was convinced it was only used on boats and ships. Benjy’s dark hair was shiny and styled today and his sideburns were neatly trimmed. He was wearing stylish robes cut to perfection and his dark eyes smouldered with passion behind his glasses as he explained about sonar and radar and echo sounding.

“You should bring Benjy over more often,” said Molly, startling Gideon out of a burgeoning daydream. He adjusted his grip on a sleeping Fred and tried to not let it show in his face when harsh reality crashed back into him.

“He and Arthur appear to have a lot to talk about.”

“That too. He’s a nice young man, he’s lucky to have you as a close friend.”

Gideon gave his sister a searching look, but her face betrayed nothing.

“We’ve always gotten on. But he’s just as much Fabian’s friend as mine,” he said, wistfulness sneaking into his voice despite his efforts. 

“Have him over for tea more often,” repeated Molly. “He’ll come around, I’m sure. Now, how are you doing after that terrible ordeal Moody put you through last week?”

“It wasn’t Moody’s fault,” argued Gideon. “The Death Eaters set a clever trap and we walked right into it. We couldn’t disapparate like I told you.”

“I still think Moody should have prepared you better for these kinds of situations. If he insists on sending you out on dangerous missions like that, the least he could do is make sure you have a fool proof way out when you need it.”

Gideon nodded as he couldn’t think of a comeback. He didn’t blame Moody, but the inability to disapparate had been a terrifying discovery; apparition no longer the secure way out of danger that it always was before. 

“How are you feeling? It must have been a nasty shock when you thought the other boy died in those flames.”

Gideon nodded again. He wasn’t ready to talk about that with anyone but Fabian. Fabian was good like that, he never asked the wrong questions or pushed for the details Gideon wasn’t willing to share. Molly meant well, but he didn’t know what to tell her to make her satisfied enough to leave him alone. Her warm brown eyes were worried as she searched his for answers, in that moment she was all big sister and nothing else. The moment passed as Charlie, the second oldest of the brood, came running into the sitting room with a fat, writhing flobberworm in his hand. He was shouting with glee at his discovery, distributing earth and remnants of last years' leaves all over the carpet in the process. 

“Mum, look what I found in the garden! Look!”

“Yes dear, that’s a flobberworm. Stand still before you get more dirt on the carpet.” Molly hoovered up the dirt from the child with her wand and then bent to fuss over a small cut on the boy’s knee. Charlie seemed too enamoured with his flobberworm to notice.

“What does it do, Mum? Is it dangerous?” Gideon could see Fabian laughing and sharing in the delight that was radiating from Charlie, who was clearly hoping that it would turn out to have fangs or breathe fire.

“Certainly. Flobberworms sneak into the garden patch and eat our lettuce in the summer,” said Molly diplomatically. Gideon supposed that from her perspective anything that could put a stop to her dinner plans was dangerous. 

Benjy came to get them soon after and told them to apparate to Highgate Cemetery. They did so without asking questions after a hasty goodbye to their sister and her family. Benjy lead the way through the old graveyards, it was a bit of a hike to reach the magical one. There was fresh green on all the trees, and Gideon watched as Fabian leant his head upwards with a pleased smile on his face, taking in the awakening of nature. 

The stone ornaments and the flowers decorating the graves became more pretentious and exotic as they entered the magical part. Gideon knew they had some relatives buried here too as a branch of the Prewett family had been city dwellers. 

Benjy dug into his robes and extracted an invisibility cloak, no doubt one of Moody’s spare ones. Gideon got the hint and disillusioned himself to the best of his ability, the familiar sensation of something cold dripping along his spine signalling that the charm had worked. Fabian did the same. The twins still hung back as disillusionment charms weren’t fool proof. Gideon could see a withered daffodil being ground to the grass as the invisible Benjy stepped on it. He was moving towards the centre of the cemetery where all the gravestones were black. 

There was a woman there, in front of a gravestone with a fresh-looking mound of earth in front. There were bright violets everywhere, too bright to be natural. The woman had lowered the hood of her robes. She was very tall and straight-backed, arrogance and elegance mingling in a fight for superiority in her stance. 

Gideon stopped breathing for several seconds, rooted to the spot as he was certain that the woman was Bellatrix Lestrange. Then he caught the profile of the woman and he saw that a single tear was trailing down her chiselled cheekbone and strong jaw. This was not Bellatrix Lestrange. 

He still didn’t dare move any closer to the woman. It must be someone of the Black family, and that was bad news even if nobody could attain the same level of murderous as Bellatrix Lestrange. He wondered why Benjy was interested in whoever this was and why he had known to come to the cemetery to watch her. They stood still for another few minutes, the three invisible men and the crying woman amongst the violets. Then the woman whirled around with a wand suddenly in her hand, and Gideon’s heart dropped. But she only put up a shield charm and started backing off, wild beautiful eyes going between Gideon’s disillusioned shape and that of Fabian some paces away. Then she disapparated. 

Gideon took a few steps forwards, needing to know whose grave the mystery woman had cried by. The names Orion Black and Regulus Black came into view in stylized silver. Gideon felt a compulsion to retch. Benjy appeared from underneath the invisibility cloak and told him to go to the Leaky Cauldron, voice normal and happy and at odds with everything Gideon was feeling. Fabian countered both his own and Gideon’s disillusionment charm, but the trickling warmth of it lifting wasn’t anywhere near enough to make Gideon feel better. Fabian gave him a troubled look and took his arm, taking Gideon for side along apparition.

Why on earth had Benjy taken him to see the grave of the man he had killed? Orion Black had been ripped from this world by Gideon’s wand, and now he had been forced to see irrefutable proof of the damage he had done. Fabian still had his hand on his arm as they entered the Leaky Cauldron. 

The pub was busy as usual, but the atmosphere was not the same anymore. Even Gideon noticed the marked difference in how people sat and talked compared to a year ago. The volume had dropped by several decibels, many people whispered and some even put up charms to ward off eavesdroppers. There was less laughter, and it was becoming fashionable to wear hooded cloaks indoors, granting an anonymity that had never been needed before. The faces on show were visibly more haggard now as even the youth looked old and careworn. 

Gideon and Fabian both ordered mead and a shot of Firewhisky each but Benjy just wanted butterbeer. He had almost stopped drinking completely, Gideon realized, Benjy was becoming far removed from the life and soul of the party that he used to be. Most of the other Order members drank heavily throughout the week to cope, but Benjy had gone to the other extreme. They found a table in a faraway corner and sat down, Fabian putting up their usual anti-eavesdropping charm.

“I’ve put a detection charm by Regulus Black’s grave, and this is the second time it’s gone off,” explained Benjy excitedly. Gideon had a long drink of his mead to try to drown out everything he was feeling. Benjy’s voice was reaching him as if through a thick fog. “Who do you think that woman was?”

“It looked a lot like Bellatrix Lestrange, but I don’t think it was her,” said Fabian. “Does she have any sisters, do we know?”

“Not amongst the Death Eaters as far as I know,” said Benjy with a frown. “There were some Black girls in Slytherin, weren't there?”

“Sirius would know who she is,” said Fabian cautiously. Gideon drank some more and tried to not remember. What had he been thinking?

“Yes of course. The little wanker would know his own relatives, wouldn’t he?” Benjy sounded derisive.

“I can ask if you don’t want to,” offered Fabian. He was avoiding looking at Gideon, which Gideon was very grateful for. “You said your detection charm went off once before, who was there last time?”

Benjy looked around them furtively, then beckoned the twins to lean closer to him. They complied, as they always did.

“It was someone who was heavily disguised,” whispered Benjy, his eyes gleaming. “At first I thought it was our Black, but he was too short. It was a young man, and I had a look at the Death Eaters we have photographs of. I’ve told Moody my theory, and he doesn’t believe me. But I’m pretty sure I know who it was.”

Benjy paused dramatically, and Gideon tried to look more intrigued than he felt. Fabian was doing a much better job.

“I think Regulus Black never died. I think he faked his own death, and that it was he who came to look at his own grave.”

Fabian looked quite impressed with this pronouncement, and Gideon did his best to process the idea. He tried to care, he really did. It was just that the dead face of Orion Black kept interfering, along with the self-assured, laughing face of his older son. Gideon had killed one and left the other for dead. No amount of mead or friendly conversations with his loved ones could make him forget what an awful human being he was.

“Do you think he’s hiding with this woman we saw today?” asked Fabian.

“Maybe,” said Benjy, but he didn’t look convinced. “She was genuinely grieving, though, wasn’t she? If she knew he was alive she probably wouldn’t be crying at his graveside.”

“True,” conceded Fabian. “Unless it’s a double bluff of some sort. If he’s still alive he must be really desperate. I mean, who fakes his own death? We’re sure he was a Death Eater, right?”

“Short of finding the body and checking for the secret Dark Mark tattoo, yes. Our Black confirmed it ages ago that he had recognized his brother in a fight between us and the Death Eaters. He only told Dumbledore and Moody, though, the rest of us were not considered worthy enough to tell. There’s something fishy about him too, I’m not convinced he’s on our side. Maybe he’s concocted some secret plan with that brother of his? The corpse of a Death Eater bride he slept around with turned up yesterday, and he reacted very strangely when Moody and I told him about it. I find myself wondering if he might be behind her death himself. And the Lestrange’s got served his mind on a platter when they kidnapped him, who knows what they saw in his memories? They might all be conspiring together.”

Benjy was flying off at a familiar tangent, and Gideon gave Fabian a quick look. Fabian looked apologetic, as if he was sorry Gideon had to listen to Sirius’s character getting painted even blacker than what was fair. The twins were in agreement that Sirius was on their side whatever Benjy thought, but it was easiest for them all to let Benjy talk through his frustrations about his personal grievances with Sirius and about the elusive traitor in the Order. 

“So, Regulus Black’s body was never found?” asked Fabian when Benjy next drew breath.

“No, and that’s bloody suspicious, right? Moody has an idea that Voldemort is collecting corpses for an inferius army, but that sounds a bit much even for Voldemort, doesn’t it? Moody never quite got over Meadowes’s body vanishing like it did.”

“Regulus Black might have survived, and now he’s planning something nefarious,” concluded Fabian contemplatively. “You think he left the Death Eaters, then? Or do you think he faked his death on their orders?”

“I’m not sure,” said Benjy reluctantly. “But it must have been him I saw in the cemetery. I just need to find proof.”

Gideon left the table soon after to get them more drinks. He got an extra shot of Firewhisky for himself that he disposed of before he got back to the table. His nerves really were shot to pieces. When he got back to the table Benjy was hinting to his brother about a secret contact of his amongst the Death Eaters, and Fabian was making every favourably impressed noise known to man. Gideon forced himself to take an interest in what was being said. After all, Benjy and Fabian didn’t seem to care what an awful person Gideon was; they still kept him around. After listening for a while Gideon lost himself in his attraction to Benjy, the alcohol lulling him into a false sense of comfort. He found himself hoping that Benjy wouldn’t find a new girlfriend this time around. Not that he deserved Benjy Fenwick, but a man could dream.


	55. She is dancing away from you now, she was just a wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Gypsy" by Fleetwood Mac.

Marlene was coming back from a mediocre date. A friend of hers had set her up with someone they knew (“I just know he’ll be absolutely perfect for you!”) and her expectations had been built up much too high before she’d even met the bloke (“He’s got such a sexy smile, let me tell you, and he always has me in stitches, so witty... Now, if only I were single myself…”). He’d had a nice smile, but Marlene had found him overbearingly full of himself. Not in a funny way, like James, or in an intense, seductive way, like Benjy. He’d also made it clear that he knew she got around (“I’ve seen you out on the town, McKinnon, I expect you want to go back to mine later?”), which had promptly taken the fun out of that idea. She didn’t like being predictable, and she hated that he expected to get laid just because it was her. And so, she quelled that vague, unspecific need inside of her, told him sweetly she had some paperwork at home she’d better go finish, and left him at the pub, spluttering with confusion.

As she was already in Diagon Alley she decided to take a walk past her parents closed down apothecary. It’s not that they had gone out of business, it was the type of business venture that would always flourish in the wizarding world. But the physical shop was shuttered, large chain imbibed with magic across the door, whole building looking forlorn. Her parents were continuing their business from home as an owl order service, hoping they could re-open the shop as soon as things calmed down. Owning a business had become a hazard, so many of the shops even in the heart of Diagon Alley had been attacked. It was almost always Death Eaters, although Marlene had heard rumours that some of the more questionable shops in Knockturn Alley had seen its windows smashed as well, likely the work of an Order sympathiser. Marlene knew plenty of people herself who might be guilty of that type of mischief.

The things that had happened to muggleborns and half-bloods owning shops in Diagon and elsewhere had been much more brutal, however. Shopkeepers threatened with violence, shops set on fire in the dead of night and absolutely vile magical graffiti aimed at scaring away muggleborns and 'bloodtraitors' from the street, spouting obscenities that made even the most war-hardened of eyes shy away. It was rarely clever, but it was agonizing. And so, even though they were a predominantly magical family, Marlene’s parents had decided that they could no longer be sure of their safety, nor that of their clients when they came knocking, and had decided to try and wait the war out. Marlene couldn’t say she disagreed with them, although there was a part of her that stubbornly wanted to carry on as before and tell any little Death Eater that dared come threaten her family to go fuck himself hard, preferably with an erumpent's horn or a broken crystal ball. 

Marlene hadn’t forgotten about the helplessness of being overpowered by the Death Eater during the fight in the tube station either, hearing Remus scream for his life and his sanity, the despair of not being able to get there in time when it really counted. The sort of spellwork the other side was using, the most heinous of curses, would soon put the Order in an impossible position, Marlene thought. They couldn’t use the same magic, legally or morally, but it took exceptionally strong shield charms to stop some of the more awful spells, not to mention the killing curse which couldn’t be stopped at all. Marlene didn’t think there were that many Death Eaters capable of using it, and there was at least one arrest per week, meaning any Death Eater ran a real risk of getting lifetime in Azkaban if they did try to cast one of the Unforgiveable Curses as their crime would show up upon examinatiom of their wand. Moody was muttering with increasing frequency about the corruption in the MLE, and he was convinced that the whole justice system would crumble unless they got to Voldemort soon. They all hoped Moody was wrong.

Most Death Eaters weren’t very talented at fighting in the first place, but Marlene thought that the other side, just like her fellow Order members, were inevitably getting better at their trade, battle worn as they were all becoming. Marlene had two nasty curse scars on her body now, marring her skin, never capable of fully healing and forever present as a bittersweet reminder of how close a call she had had, how powerless and dependent on luck she and everyone around her truly was in the fight for survival. 

Marlene headed to the Leaky Cauldron, meaning to floo home. Benjy and the twins were there, though, all waving in a friendly fashion at her. Marlene knew they had all calmed down about Remus by now, she had seen Fabian in particular making obvious efforts to be nice to Remus at the last Order meeting. She knew Benjy was still getting over their most recent break-up, but he must be smart enough to know that it had never had any chance of lasting, bigoted werewolf slurs or not. Marlene certainly hadn’t expected it to hold much longer. 

“Lads,” she said, smiling in greeting as she sat down next to Gideon. Benjy’s wand was raised, as non-threateningly as a wand could be, and he muttered something that sounded like ‘muffliato’ as he flicked it. Marlene recognized a change in the noise around them, the talk from the neighbouring table was somehow drowned out.

“The dream team, back together again,” said Marlene with a little laugh, “I reckon your missions must be less dangerous now that it’s the three of you?”

“You can say that again!” agreed Fabian, who seemed happy and at ease. The other two were less so, though. 

“We’re just discussing the new Rita Skeeter article, have you read it?” asked Benjy, formal note slipping into his normally sensual voice. 

“I haven’t. What’s the mad cow on about now then?”

“Insider information on how often the Order has been patrolling around Hogsmeade. Details that aren’t detrimental to anyone’s safety as it’s old information by now. But there was a threat against Madam Rosmerta, which Black and the others were on. And now it’s in the papers.”

“Maybe Madam Rosmerta herself blabbed?” suggested Marlene, trying not to sound too tired. She knew all of Benjy’s conspiracy theories by heart by now, or nearly all at least, and she was quite certain that whoever it was that occasionally leaked information of varying importance, it wasn’t Sirius. He ‘could be seen out on the town’ in accordance with her phrase of the day, sure, but he wasn’t the type to leak information by mistake, and he had too much to lose to tell anyone Order secrets on purpose, even to someone he called a friend. The others guarding Madam Rosmerta must have been Lily and James, and they were even more unlikely to be guilty of such a thing. Ergo, it must be Madam Rosmerta. 

Benjy rolled his eyes at her, not bothering to hide it, and gave Gideon sitting next to her a meaningful look. Marlene turned a sugar-sweet smile on Benjy.

“Are you invited to the stag-do?” she asked, knowing full well what the answer to that was. 

“No,” said Benjy, not looking sorry in the slightest. 

“I’ve got the henny to plan, myself,“ explained Marlene contentedly, “Mary was supposed to do it but it’s fallen on me, instead. Told me she’d be ‘indisposed’ this weekend, or some other rubbish, but it’s just as well as she can be a bit stuffy, if you get my drift? Not in a bad way, I just think planning a girls’ night out is more my cup of tea than hers. We’re going magical bowling, I remember Lily telling me she’s never done that, and then we’ve got the Hobgoblins concert at the Magical Merlin Hall. It’s sold out.” Marlene drew breath, she’d been so lost in her happy reveries that she hadn’t noticed the stony face on Benjy, who now yawned mock-discreetly as she looked up. Fabian was looking at her with genuine fascination, though, and she turned pointedly to him, continuing to tell him about the night she had planned out for them. 

It was a good thing that Fabian was such a nice man, Marlene thought privately, as his brother was quiet throughout the night, never contributing to the conversation unprompted and actually ignoring her the one time she tried to bring him into the conversation. He had looked unhappy at first when she sat down, but as Marlene warmed up to the company (mainly thanks to a couple of pints Fabian had been kind enough to get her, although she had insisted on getting the last round for everyone, equality and all that) Gideon became visibly stand-offish as if she had done something to offend him. She caught Fabian giving his brother a worried look once or twice, but Benjy didn’t even seem to notice. It was all very strange. 

Another curious thing had been the questions about Regulus Black, Sirius’s Death Eater brother. Marlene hadn’t even known he was dead until Benjy told her, which of course was interesting news in itself, but she didn’t quite understand Benjy’s interest in the boy. Benjy had waited until she’d finished her second pint before asking, making her think he was hoping she wouldn’t remember his sudden interest, and it didn't escape her notice that he hadn’t had anything but butterbeer to drink himself. 

He seemed quite upset when she told him she knew nothing of the boy beyond that he looked like a mini-Sirius, but less sexy and all prim and proper. As Benjy stared at her with undisguised jealousy (how very predictable), Gideon too turned to look at her, a look of strong disgust on his face, maybe tinged with a hint of hurt feelings. Marlene found the whole thing very curious indeed. 

As she stumbled out of the Leaky, boys deciding they would have one more round and Marlene having grown tired of the way the conversation was going (again), someone called her name. Not her first name, though, or her last, but both. 

“That’s odd,” she mumbled, realizing as she did that she was perhaps a smidge more tipsy than she had first thought, if she was thinking out loud.

“Marlene McKinnon?”, the voice said again. A woman, which made Marlene feel marginally safer, and she sounded quite young. Looked it, too, Marlene realized as she raised her head and found the source of the voice just a few yards away. 

“Who are you?” Marlene said, dragging her cloak more tightly around herself. She should go back in and use the floo, no need to risk splinching herself with a shoddy apparition.

“My name is Fliss, Fliss Goyle. I was a year ahead of you in school.”

“Slytherin,” muttered Marlene, realizing too late that she’d said that out loud too.

But the woman laughed, a boisterous but not unattractive laugh, and she didn’t seem to have a wand in hand. Marlene waited, drunken fingers slowly going to her cloak pocket. Wand. Good.

“No need to get your wand, love,” Fliss Goyle told her, a comment that made Marlene suspect that she’d completely lost control of her oral faculties. “I see this might not be the right time to talk, and I’m sorry if I startled you. Maybe you would like to meet up somewhere, say tomorrow, maybe the Crystal Ball?”

“No thank you,” said Marlene warily. 

“Oi Marlene, what are you still doing out here?”

It was Fabian, an unlikely saviour, but a very welcome one. He had a scruffy packet of muggle cigarettes in his hand, and seemed to assess the situation correctly and quickly, stepping out in front of Marlene as he got out his wand.

“There’s no need to -” began the other woman, looking alarmed, but Fabian cut across her with a surprisingly carrying voice. Usually he was a mild mannered wizard. 

“Just lighting a cigarette. What did you want?” He did light the cigarette, but he did not put the wand away, keeping it pointing mostly down, albeit at a slight angle towards Fliss Goyle.

“She was trying to set a date to meet me on,” said Marlene, trying not to slur her words. “Why did you want to set a date with me?”

“Perhaps another time,” the woman said, suddenly turning on the spot with a crack and disappearing.

“She’s in recruitment, we think,” supplied Fabian, looking around worriedly and dumping his half-smoked fag on the ground. 

“Oh,” said Marlene dully, stomach knotting from something more than beer. Did that mean they had tried to recruit her for the Death Eaters? Marlene shuddered unhappily. 

“We need to tell Moody. She probably doesn’t know you’re in the Order, she wouldn’t have asked then I don’t think. Although how they don’t know about you after the tube… Doesn’t matter. You know what, let me take you home through the floo right now, Or Benjy can if you prefer, and then me and him and Gideon can go via Moody’s place on the way home. He’s open all hours, right maniac is Moody. You’ve got the hen-do to fix for tomorrow, you’ll need your strength for that if I know Lily Evans. Which I don’t, much, but since she puts up with James I’m assuming they’re kindred spirits. Anyway, did she drop anything of interest when she spoke to you?”

Marlene jolted awake, she didn’t think she’d heard Fabian speak so much in one go before. And it was very sweet of him to think she’d need help flooing, but she didn’t care much for that type of old-fashioned thinking, even if it did come from a loving place. Maybe he had a mother or a sister who had liked being treated like something fragile that needed caring for. 

“I had better come with you to Moody, I’ll just have a glass of water first. And no, I don’t think she told me anything of interest, just her name and suggested we meet tomorrow night in the Crystal Ball.”

“Ok. Come along, then,” Fabian opened the heavy door to the Leaky, and she re-entered the warm, honey-smelling establishment. 

“Off to Moody's,” she mumbled tiredly and headed for the bar. Water should do the trick.


	56. King for a day, princess by dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title's from Green Day's "King for a Day".

It was Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs tonight, and James was over the metaphorical moon about it. Actually, as he had done a few frog leaps over Remus’s squatting shape, it became less of a metaphor and more of a spirit-induced pillar of truth and stability in a night where adulting lost whatever little appeal it had once had, and consequences could only be found on a list of banned words. Other words on said list were “responsibility”, “sober”, “stop singing”, “you’ve had enough to drink”, “why did you conjure up a kite” and “no”. Tonight was James’s stag do. 

Sirius had dressed them all up, choosing from his extensive back catalogue of muggle clothes, all the different styles he’d gone through in school trying to make statements about himself through increasingly outlandish fashion choices, upsetting and alienating everyone but his fellow Marauders and some near-sighted, love-struck witches, only to suddenly settle on boring and formfitting with the casual bit of leather thrown in once his parents lost their grasp on him. As luck had it, he hadn’t thrown away his old togs and there were some incredible fabrics and cuts to choose from: glittery see-through things, pink velour, metallic waist high, skin-tight trousers, flairs with bold flower patterns, studded leather jackets, knitted orange vests, a kilt, a complete muggle school-girl uniform and any number of hats. All the hats, rather annoyingly, seemed to suit Peter. Peter rarely suited anything, which Sirius had been quick to comment on even after he had said that some people just had the right type of head to pull off any headgear. Peter had taken the mixed, probably unintentional compliment like a man; he'd blushed a rosy pink and scurried off to get them more drinks. 

After some clever spellwork they were all dolled up and looking fabulous, although James had received some odd looks from the others as he had said so out loud. Since when weren’t men allowed to indulge in a bit of dress-up, James would like to know? And these were Sirius’s old clothes for Godric’s sake, didn’t that make him the weird one? So what if James had gone straight for the schoolgirl uniform without any prompting from the others, it really didn’t say one iota about his sexuality. At least, Peter had made sure that there were plenty of photographs of them all; he’d even gotten the resident vampire wrangler in the Grumpy Bowtruckle to take a photo of all four of them. That was surely one for the Marauder family album.

Remus had come up with a new nickname for the motorbike again, it was now called the ‘Black Mamba’. James thought it hilarious and he laughed for a minute straight when he first heard it. Nowhere near Marlene’s unbeatable record, which was 23 minutes, but a minute of laughter was still a minute of laughter. James’s stomach muscles certainly thought so. They had decided to leave the aptly-named motorcycle in Mile End and brave drunk apparition instead, as not even Sirius could argue that he was in prime driving condition once they’d finished three bottles of Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur split four ways. The liqueur had been James’s demand, partly because he knew the other three thought it too sweet and too purple, partly because he couldn’t get enough of the stuff himself, and this was his night to shine. Sparkle, is what he meant, the liqueur contained glitter. James was sparkling.

To the pub then, or was it just a bar? Asylum for the magically unstable or safe haven for warlocks whose crimes were not quite dark enough to merit an open invitation to Voldemort’s merry little gang of blood purists? Who knew what it really was, but James was growing to like the place. It wasn’t possible to get thrown out of the Grumpy Bowtruckle, but James thought they had come as close as you could get when he’d magicked the sturdy, liquor-drenched tables in the establishment together and demanded all patrons get onto said table-train and squat down in a neat queue. James had then, whilst continuously reciting a rather smutty limerick about a warty toad and a not-so-fair maiden, played leapfrog over everyone who had responded to his call of arms, jumping over a wizard with no legs and only one arm, a witch with real, fairylike wings fluttering out her back, several next-to-normal drunks and Remus. After that the bartender, a lady who seemed to know Sirius rather well as she merely sounded exasperated when telling him off for bringing “the wrong crowd” to her pub, had launched into a strong-worded suggestion their way that basically spelled out “Leave!”. Sirius had even so charmed a whole Firewhisky bottle out of her, incorrigible cheap twat that he was, but after that they heeded her advice and left. 

Knockturn Alley was brutally dark and angsty-looking, so no different to what it was in the daytime hours. Sirius, carrying his silly canvas bag which clashed horribly with his metallic top and yellow polka dot flares, conjured up metal canisters from the depths. 

“New muggle thing called spray paint,” Sirius explained proudly, as he handed round one can each. “Yours is red, Prongs, for Gryffindor, the rest of ours are gold.”

Without further explanation, Sirius walked to the nearest dark brick wall, shook the metal container a few times experimentally, then took off a cap at the top and aimed the nozzle. A shot of gold paint, shimmering faintly in the darkness, formed into a line. Slowly and methodically, Sirius spelled out “Fuck Voldemort” in large, uneven letters as the others looked on. James was pretty sure a sober Moony would have been horrified and a sober Wormtail would have been exhibiting a nervous tick of glancing over his shoulder for potential witnesses, but this was not a night of sobriety. For his part, James was barely stifling his laughter, it felt to be on a calibre that could easily have woken up half the street which was why he prevailed, almost stumbling drunkenly to the ground in the process.

“Protego,” muttered Remus by his side, shooting off a random shield charm up one side of the dark alley, then repeated it in the other direction, which should be enough to somewhat hinder any potential sneak attack on them. 

“Good thinking,” said Peter, dropping his blue kite to the ground and starting to shake his own bottle whilst moving to the bit of wall next to Sirius’s proud message.

James, for his part, set to work on fashioning a red phoenix under Sirius’s message. It was difficult as he only had the one colour, but it was incredibly satisfying to defile this sacred place of the dark arts with insults and whimsy (Sirius and Peter were going for the first and Remus for the second). James hit on the idea of using several ‘impervius’-charms on top of the paint, which should make it more difficult to clean up in the morning. They were hoping that the fact that it was ordinary muggle paint would stump any potential cleaners too, as it would take different spells to clean than magically conjured colours. 

Soon proud messages like “I love unicorns” and “Dumbledore rocks my world” mingled with such classics as “Rabastan and Rodolphus still practice blowjobs on each other”, “only repressed homosexuals support Voldemort” and “Voldemort is secretly a house elf”.

After ten minutes Remus told them he thought he’d heard something, and they quickly packed up and ran back where they’d come from, past the Crystal Ball (open all hours) and out into Diagon Alley. It hit James that Remus had probably made up the claim of having heard someone to get them away from there. 

“We’ve got some more of your vile liqueur, Prongs, and the Firewhisky Madam Sauvage gave us. Remus suggested we go Hogsmeade, make the town unsafe in a good way again, what say you?”

“We should drink it in the Forbidden Forest,” said James, manic grin splitting his face in two, “then we can all run together and you can ride me, Moony.”

“I’ll finally get to ride you?” asked Remus wryly, perhaps misunderstanding James on purpose. 

“Ticking things off the list while you’re still technically a free man, Prongs?” asked Sirius, catching on with a devious smirk marring his features. 

“Now is not the time for sexual innuendo,” protested James weakly (it had been decided a long time ago that it was always the time for sexual innuendo), “now is the time to figure out how we apparate into the Forbidden Forest.”

“Can’t be done, sorry Prongs,” said Remus promptly, and James gave Sirius a look of pure despair, then tried fluttering his eyelashes at him. That one perhaps carried more gravitas when he was in deer form. 

Sirius was busy laughing, but then Peter piped up, having hit on the brilliant idea that they might be able to apparate into the underground tunnel between the Shrieking Shack and the Whomping Willow, since part of it was outside of the boundaries of Hogwarts. Remus, colloquially known as the conscience of their little group, sighed but then smiled benignly at them all, James supposed that he was having a night off seeing as it was James’s stag-do. 

“Hold on to your hat, Peter,” James told him severely, and Peter yelped and grasped the cowboy hat with one hand, James’s arm encircling the other. Remus took a firm hold of Sirius, who was without doubt the drunkest (even though he would later claim that had been James), and there were two loud cracks as they disapparated. 

It was dark, it was wet, and still it managed to be dusty all at the same time; but it had worked. They ran in a long, hunched-down line, able to keep going straight less curtesy of the alcohol and more as a result of being in a narrow tunnel with nowhere to go but forwards. James gave an elated whoop once he climbed through the roots of the frozen willow, Hogwarts grounds stretching as far as the eye could see, medieval castle casting its venerable shadow their way and the comforting hoot of an owl the only thing cutting through the stillness. Except for James’s whoop, that was, and it was quite a loud one, even if he did say so himself.

“Prongs, you nutter, shut your gob!” Sirius whisper-shouted at him, but he was grinning delightedly and was in no position to tell off other people for being too loud, anyway. 

Sirius started pulling out bottles as they walked towards the forest, the alcohol and not the spray paint, and James didn’t even mind that the other three were taking turns with the single Firewhisky bottle as it meant more Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur for him. 

“Can I jump on your back now and then you transform?” slurred Remus at him, a jubilant noise as it meant the last of Remus’s good sense was well on its way out the window.

“Let’s try,” James agreed immediately, and as it turns out it worked just fine, Remus’s lithe body extending all over his back, almost falling off to the right when James, now a slightly befuddled and very drunk deer, peered behind his head to look at the foreign weight on him. Precious few things after that made sense to James, as drink and stags mixed even less well than one would have thought (it was the legs, James was sure it was the legs), but the evidence would suggest he took Remus on a short tour of the forest at breakneck speed, little to no consideration given to low-hanging branches, a large black dog with a squealing rat on its head hot on their heels, just barely keeping up as James leapt around haphazardly like the majestic king of the forest he was. 

The next thing that he was absolutely certain of was that the people in charge had forgotten to change the password to the Prefects’ bathroom. More fool them, really, maybe they should have prepared better for the onslaught of three woodland creatures and one Remus Lupin, stumbling in and getting wet earth and murky old leaves everywhere, then filling the tub up with the variety of frothy bubble bath that was thick and strong enough to carry a boy (or a man, there would be no pretending otherwise once the night was over, would there?), an effect that would last for about an hour before it wore off. James also threw in some Waltzing Blackcurrant Liqueur, although they had all agreed he shouldn’t.

They must have gone places before stumbling in there, though, as they had a large trifle in a bowl with them, and James was sure he had told a house elf about the joys of being a cat owner just then, but he would be the first to admit that he wasn’t in his right mind, memory not to be relied upon. Since they were still at Hogwarts it didn’t seem as if they had run afoul of any of their old teachers, though.

Remus kept his underwear and flowery shirt on, Peter his briefs and the hat, and James and Sirius got completely naked, trying to bomb into the tub but only making soft dents in the dense bubbles, still in foetal-positions as Remus and Peter sat down on the foam with marginally more grace, Remus carrying both the trifle and the very last of the liqueur bottles. James was rather sure there had been ten when they began their evening. 

It was a very astonished professor Flitwick who found them there, and there was no telling for how long he stood there before making his presence known with an embarrassed, squeaky little cough. They hadn’t gone through the bubbles yet, which meant that they faced him with rather more skin on display than what one would hope was common in your average Hogwarts student – professor relationship, but of course they were all adults here. James supposed that there might be other things Flitwick might like an explanation for, too, but tonight they had different priorities and the only thing offered to the tiny little man was Sirius’s inarticulate slur of “Stag night, geddit? Get why it’s funny?". Their bewildered former charms professor was happy to take their photograph, as it were, what with James asking nicely and Peter having managed to not break the camera during the eventful night. As icing on the cauldron cake Flitwick acquiesced to pose for a second picture with them that Remus got out of the tub to take (being the steadiest on his feet). Professor Flitwick stepped carefully into the middle of the cloud of foam (the stuff was losing its potency, but as Flitwick was a slip of a thing that didn’t matter much) and stood there in his ravenclaw-blue morning gown, smiling indulgently for Remus and the camera as James waved ecstatically, Sirius howled and sloshed around, hair getting wet, and Peter, mid-wave, suddenly yelped and disappeared into the abyss with a modest splash.

It turned out to be a glorious picture.


	57. Don't waste your time on me, you're already the voice inside my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Miss You" by Blink 182.

Regulus had spent the day trying to calm his nerves. He had run on the spot for fifteen minutes, done a hundred push-ups, sit-ups and jumping jacks. He had read the introduction to two separate and equally boring books on protective enchantments, not managing to get further into either book. He had gone out of his way to annoy Sirius when he tried to cook dinner for them. (He had been careful around his brother ever since their reunion, but something today had snapped in him or perhaps reset itself into the old pattern of 5 years ago, a time when Regulus had purposefully tried to wind his big brother up in Grimmauld Place, fiery temper easily brought to the breaking point whenever Regulus playfully insulted his friends or talked shit about muggle vehicles. Little had changed, and Sirius’s motorbike was an all-too easy target, even though Regulus had never seen the monstrosity in question himself.) Sirius had burnt the sauce for the spag bol he had been attempting and had (with more satisfaction than Regulus preferably would have liked to see from him) ordered pizza and garlic bread to be brought to the flat instead. It had definitely upset Lupin more than it had Sirius, which wasn’t what Regulus had been going for, especially on a night like this. All three had avoided alcohol that evening, which might explain some of the nerves and the fretfulness. 

They had decided that Lupin should take the invisibility cloak as soon as they were inside of Grimmauld Place, but Regulus would use it until then as they still couldn’t afford anyone seeing him out and about. Once inside, they were hoping that even if Mrs Black walked in on them she would not curse her own sons. Regulus had caught Sirius’s eye as this opinion was voiced, and he had seen his own doubt mirrored in his brother’s eyes. 

Sirius grabbed hold of Lupin and took him for side-along apparition to the square outside of their Islington childhood home, where Regulus followed them alone and invisible a second later. There was a light drizzle of rain in the dimly lit square. Distant muggle church bells rang the hour, sounding three times in a dull, lonesome melody. Regulus noticed that the light curtain of rain never seemed to hit the cloak he was wearing.

Sirius’s hand reached for him and he condescended to take it for the sake of simplicity. Lupin was looking around curiously; Regulus didn’t suppose he had ever been here before. Knowing his brother, Lupin had been told plenty of stories, though.

The three of them walked up to number 12, and Remus had to be guided a bit to be able to find it. It was under some very heavy protection charms curtesy of their late father. It could not be seen by muggles at all and was usually overlooked by any wizard or witch who didn’t know exactly where to find it. Regulus performed some quick spell-work, bypassing or lifting the protective enchantments where he had to. 

“I’m through”, he whispered finally, stepping ahead confidently underneath the cloak. The locks on the door were mostly for show, and Regulus tapped his wand gently on them to make them uncoil and open. It worked smoothly and the heavy front door swung open for him. Regulus handed the cloak over to Lupin as they entered, turning immediately down towards the kitchen.

“Kreacher? It’s Regulus,” he whispered once he had entered the kitchen, familiar long wooden table mirroring the position of the dining table one floor up and gleaming copper pans decorating the wall. The other two had gone off to search the house for basilisk venom but Regulus knew somebody needed to keep Kreacher occupied.

“Master Regulus?” croaked Kreacher in his deep bullfrog’s voice. He crawled out from the space behind the enchanted boiler, looking shabbier and more tired than Regulus could remember having ever seen him. He did smile as he spotted Regulus though. “The young master has come home! Kreacher is overjoyed!”

“Not so loud,” whispered Regulus, smiling uncomfortably in response. “I’m not able to come back for good, Kreacher, but I needed to come grab a few things. Oh, and I thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing,” Regulus added as an afterthought, but realizing as he said so that he was genuinely happy to see the elf again. Kreacher had always been kind to him and cared for him almost the way Regulus had later realized a parent should. Not that his parents hadn’t tried. Regulus was sure they had done what they thought was proper.

“Kreacher is looking after his mistress, master Regulus,” said Kreacher slowly. “It is Kreacher’s proud duty in life to serve the house of Black.”

“How is mother?” Regulus asked, voice almost failing him. His mother had been a painful subject for years but abandoning her like he had had in no way eased his worries for her.

“Mistress is as noble as her house,” croaked Kreacher, “mistress does as she pleases now that she is alone. Kreacher helps her. Kreacher wishes that the young master would come back, that he would tell the mistress he is not dead.”

Regulus nodded his understanding uncomfortably, reading madness and displaced grief between the lines of what the house-elf said. 

“It is extremely important that mother doesn’t know I survived. It’s for her own safety, as I told you before.” Regulus grew quiet again as an odd urge to explain all that had happened to him to Kreacher surfaced. He’d always liked Kreacher, after all. The Dark Lord leaving the elf to die alone and in pain had been the straw that broke the hippogriff’s back concerning Regulus’s own allegiance. He had never thought of the house-elf as more than a servant; a well-loved servant was still a servant. But maybe this was yet another thing Regulus had been wrong about in his previous life? When he thought about it he realized Kreacher did have feelings, just like muggles did, just like wizards did, in fact. And who was Regulus to say that Kreacher’s feelings mattered less than his? Kreacher had been put through hell on Regulus’s misguided orders, had turned up in this very kitchen dying from thirst and horrible regrets and feelings of guilt. The potion guarding the horcrux had worked the same way on Kreacher as it had on Regulus, a pureblood wizard. 

“I’ve turned against the Dark Lord,” said Regulus, voice as low as it got. Kreacher’s eyes immediately bulged almost out of his head. “The things he did to you was just the last in a series of horrible things he forced me and other people to do for him. I realized I was wrong, and that I needed to fight him. I’m doing it in secret with Sirius. We don’t see eye to eye on everything, but I have forgiven Sirius and I believe he has forgiven me. Mother can’t know about any of this, because her life will be in danger if she finds out. And I forbid you to in any way tell or tip off anyone about what I’ve just told you.”

Regulus stared into Kreacher’s eyes for a few seconds, gauging his reaction. Kreacher seemed to be struggling at first, but then he started nodding. 

“Young master Sirius broke his mother’s heart,” said Kreacher finally, reproachfulness slipping into his tone.

“I know, Kreacher,” said Regulus heavily. “But she didn’t always do right by him, either.”

Kreacher was quiet for a while longer, mulling things over. Regulus had a think himself. He had spent such a long time with Sirius now that he had almost forgotten how everything had always been Sirius’s fault in Grimmauld Place. Sirius was loud and crass, just like their mother, and he had never shied away from a good argument. It had been easy to believe that every voice raised in anger and every showcase in bad behaviour had been his fault and his fault alone, that he deserved punishment for it, but Regulus thought he could see another layer to it now. He’d thought it mildly amusing as a child, watching his parents or other relatives goading Sirius into tirades to display his otherness once he’d been sorted into Gryffindor, preferably in front of an audience who could easily join forces and pick his arguments apart. Vivid memories surfaced of Sirius at 13 or 14, fighting on the behalf of people with lesser blood than him, fights he knew he couldn’t win in this house but persevering time and time again until the adults grew tired of ridiculing him and locked him into his room upstairs. Regulus had laughed along back then, pleased as punch he was the one with the right opinions, the one his parents could be proud of. He thought it probable that Sirius had broken their mother’s heart, but today Regulus was much less sure if their mother had had the right to let it break the way she had.

“Kreacher will keep master’s secrets. He was very frightened when the Dark Lord took him to the cave,” the elf continued finally. “The Dark Lord was whispering to himself in strange tongues in the little boat, and Kreacher did wonder if he was the right sort of person for young master Regulus to be associating himself with.”

“What language did he speak?” Regulus asked, brain trying to catch up with the conversation. “Could you repeat anything he said?”

“Kreacher only heard strange noises, young master. The Dark Lord was talking to himself, as far as Kreacher could tell.”

“It was pareltongue, wasn’t it?” Regulus realized. The Dark Lord was rumoured to be a parselmouth, and Regulus wondered what that sounded like. What on earth could the Dark Lord have been saying to himself as he travelled with the horcrux and the house-elf? Could it possibly have something to do with the horcruxes, or the destruction of them? Maybe it had concerned the other hiding places? “Can you repeat any of the noises he made?” Regulus asked of Kreacher, staring intently and almost pleadingly at the elf.

Kreacher struggled for a bit, even making a few, tentative noises with his tongue and the back of his throat, trying to follow the order Regulus had given him. He stopped quickly, however, looking severely unhappy and glancing around for an implement to strike himself with.

“No need to punish yourself, Kreacher has done well for trying,” said Regulus quickly. “May I extract the memory from your mind with my wand?” he asked then, suddenly struck by inspiration. 

Kreacher nodded eagerly, and Regulus told him to think only of the memory as he pulled out his wand, conjured up a small crystal bottle he remembered reading was ideal to store memories in, and put his wand carefully to the temple of Kreacher’s large, domed head. A white wisp of something watery but not quite solid-looking escaped and stayed attached to his wand until he’d coaxed it into his new bottle. He conjured up a little stopper and plugged it in carefully, then thanked Kreacher sincerely for his service.

“You should go back to sleep now, Kreacher. Thanks for the chat tonight, and I need your word that you will not tell anyone about anything that’s passed between us tonight, nor anything we’ve discussed unless I return and tell you otherwise.” 

Regulus was able to escape the kitchen soon after, having made sure Kreacher was safely back in bed. The heads of Kreacher’s relatives were all mounted on the wall leading up to the rest of the house, and Regulus watched them solemnly as he walked past. House-elves had served his family well through the ages, and it had felt right to confide a bit more in Kreacher, even though he knew his brother and Lupin were unlikely to approve or understand. 

The room leading into the drawing room was open, flickering lights from the chandelier casting dancing shadows. Regulus entered to see how the others’ search was coming along.

He was met by a very unexpected sight. Sirius was standing in the middle of the room with his wand raised, pointing at a familiar figure in velvet black robes. Mrs Black was quite tall and thin still, her hair pulled back in a severe bun and some dark grey pearls gleamed dully around her neck. She had a large glass of Firewhisky in her hand, but no wand. Lupin was nowhere to be seen.

Regulus drew a shocked breath, worried both for Sirius’s and his mother’s safety. Sirius must have spotted him, but his eyes did not waver from his mother. Their mother turned, slowly, at the noise Regulus had made, and soon he was face to face with her. Her eyes seemed to stare right through him, dark grey and fathomless, her skin was papery and unhealthy in appearance and he was strongly reminded of something that had died a long time ago. 

She raised the hand with the whisky to her mouth, it shook noticeably as she emptied it. Her eyes closed for a few seconds once she’d gulped it all down, but there was no other reaction to the strength of the spirit. She sat the glass down on a spindly side table next to her. 

“I need to call the exorcist,” she said in a normal voice that echoed in the forced stillness of the room. Nobody answered her, and Regulus moved out of her way as she suddenly advanced, set on leaving the room. Regulus thought it likely that she would have tried to walk through him; she must have thought he was a ghost. Regulus met Sirius’s eyes as the soft footfalls of their mother disappeared up the stairs behind him. Sirius looked shaken and he didn’t lower his wand. 

“Did you find anything?” Regulus asked as quietly as possible. He thought he could hear a door closing above them. 

“No,” whispered the voice of Lupin, somewhere to Regulus’s right. 

“We need to leave in case she does something mad,” said Sirius in a low voice, shaking himself experimentally in a way that reminded Regulus of the dog he could turn into. Disappointment soared through him at the lack of progress the other two had made, but he knew they couldn’t trust their mother. She might not be as drunk or as crazy as she appeared, but even if she was, she might call for her brother to come and help her fight the ghosts of her sons in her sitting room. They needed to get out.

Regulus led the way downstairs and back out into the wet night. He returned the protective enchantments on the entrance to the way they had been, and then the three of them disapparated. 

They walked up the stairs to the flat in silence. Lupin had taken off the cloak, but he had forgotten to hand it back to Regulus. Sirius leapt up the stairs in front, needless amounts of energy still coursing through his veins. There was a surprised yell once he was out of sight, which struck an odd note in the silence of the block of flats. It wasn’t yet five in the morning, and barely anyone in the house should be awake at this time.

Lupin shot Regulus an alert look. They both reacted at the same time and started running after Sirius. Come to think of it, the yell had sounded rather a lot like Sirius.


	58. I just want to save you while there’s still something left to save

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Savior" by Rise Against. 
> 
> Chapter warning for torture and blood.

“Catch!” shouted Remus when they were a few doors away from their flat. He threw the cloak at Sirius’s brother who was sprinting just behind him. It was a lousy throw, but Regulus was good at catching things, reaching out mid-run for the fabric without stopping and pulling it over himself in a smooth motion and disappearing from view. Remus skidded to a halt, out of breath and fired up with worry and determination. A loud commotion could be heard in their flat and Remus burst through the door, yelling ‘stupefy’ and pointing his wand at the first moving target he saw. It missed and made an ugly, cracked spot in the paint of the wall instead.

“Petrificus Totalus!” shouted one of the intruders, aiming wildly and missing by several yards. Remus could feel something edging past him at a much closer distance as he aimed at the cloaked figure who had aimed at him. But before he got out the stunning spell from the tip of his tongue, he was taken down by a curse that hit him from yet another direction. He was vaguely aware of yelling in the most pitiful way possible as the pain surged through him, relentless and unyielding, like hundreds of blunt, saw-edged knives slicing into him from without and within, frying up his nerve-endings and making his eyes roll back into his head, bile frothing in his throat.

When he came to Sirius’s voice was raised and Regulus was whispering agitatedly, neither stopping for breath as they argued over each other. Then they both quietened at the same time and he heard quick footsteps, soft hands moving over his sides and his face.

“I’m alright,” Remus said, opening his eyes and tasting blood mixed with the bile, he had almost bitten through his tongue. His body was tingling, but where he hurt the most was his tongue and the shoulder that had broken his fall as the cruciatus curse hit him. Sirius dragged him into a sitting position and gave him a tight hug before he got up again. 

There were four unconscious Death Eaters in the room. All were unmasked, but Remus recognized none of them. They looked barely more than children. Three were neatly tied up with minimal damage done to them. The fourth was lying in an unappetizing pool of what looked like vomit and blood but stank strongly of ammonia. His face looked as if it had been kicked open by a heavy boot. Remus felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly and forced himself to move to his bedroom to pack. It was time to go. 

He was barely aware of what he pulled into an old muggle backpack and Sirius was back within minutes. Remus felt his gaze go to Sirius’s feet. One of his black boots was soiled by something dark and wet. 

“We need to go. Regulus has put the turntable and as many books as he could fit into my old school trunk and I have the horcruxes.”

Remus nodded back, he was light-headed and felt similar to how he did after the full moon. Except for the odd spasms running through his body at intervals, they must be aftershocks from the torture curse.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Remus complied and felt it throb and heal with an angry flick of Sirius’s wand. Sirius’s thumb wiped away some red liquid from the side of his mouth. Then he was dragged to his feet and all three of them trooped out of the flat. Sirius was carrying his old canvas bag and a muggle suitcase. Regulus had put the invisibility cloak on the trunk and was levitating it beside him. His facial hair was suddenly abundant and had changed colour and he was wearing a large winter cloak that had to be Sirius’s old one from school. The hood was up. Remus thought it ought to be enough cover for now, as they were likely to just meet muggles in the darkness and the drizzling rain. It was still early as well.

Remus followed Sirius without speaking, glad to have someone else in charge. Regulus walked beside Remus, he looked withdrawn and on edge, eyes constantly moving to check on their surroundings. Sirius didn’t lead them far, very soon they were walking down the familiar steps that led down to the cellar that housed the Grumpy Bowtruckle. 

Remus had never once been there sober, and the state of the place was a bit of a shock as they entered. The floor was sticky with liquor and broken glass crunched under their feet. The smell was putrid and almost toxic, cigarette and pipe-smoke still heavy in the air and mixing with strong spirits, sweat and dirty sea water. The lights were on, which was perhaps most disconcerting of all.

Sirius ushered him and Regulus to a corner table and dumped his suitcase on the table before moving over to the bar. 

The establishment was empty, save for three people. The mermaid was dozing in her tank, a man with large whiskers was asleep on a table at the other end of the room, and the proprietor of the bar was sitting at a table close to the bar, nursing a cup of tea. She eyed Sirius with a mixture of exasperation and superiority as he walked over and sat down next to her. 

“Isn’t this place supposed to be filled with dark creatures and wizards running from the law?” asked Regulus quietly. He was looking round with disapproving eyes.

“That’s exactly what we are, isn’t it?” said Remus, keeping his voice down and eyes on the mermaid. She was snoring loudly and it didn’t look as if she was eavesdropping. But you could never be too careful.

“Do I want to know how my brother knows that woman?” 

Remus turned his eyes on Sirius again. He was leaning in and whispering into the dark woman’s ear. She didn’t look happy, but she wasn’t pulling away from him either. She looked different to Remus in the light and the sobriety, her face was younger and her clothes shabbier than he had noticed before. She also looked much smaller, sitting on a bench beside Sirius, rather than behind her bar pouring revolting drinks and raining cruel and sometimes funny comments over her customers. 

“Probably not,” said Remus cautiously, although he didn’t actually know if Sirius had shagged her or not. “We used to come here quite a bit last autumn, and we were here for James’s stag-do as well.”

“And why exactly are we here now?” asked Regulus.

“Dunno,” admitted Remus. They had to wait a minute longer, and then Sirius suddenly gave the woman a loud kiss on the cheek before jumping up from the bench.

“Ten galleons!” she said sharply after him. “Accio toast and jam and kettle,” she continued, no wand visible but the items she had mentioned came soaring out of a door in the corner. Sirius conjured up a tray and placed the food on it, then waved for Remus and Regulus to join him. The woman didn’t look at them as they approached, instead she stared lazily into her mug.

Sirius lead the way through the door and Remus followed without asking, exhaustion the only real thing he could feel. There was a narrow staircase that led to a landing with two doors. Sirius unlocked the one on the left, which led into a bedroom and bathroom combo. The bed was large and took up most of the room, it was covered in dodgy-looking red velvet and silk. There were mirrors on the ceiling over the bed, and there were no decorations on the dark walls. The window was grimy and looked directly on Regent’s Canal. 

Sirius cast a ‘tergeo’ on the bed before setting down the tray, then he conjured up three cups and started pouring tea. Remus sank down on the bed with him, too tired to ask or complain about where they were. Regulus let the invisible trunk drop to the floor with a thump.

“Is she a prostitute?”

Sirius looked up in confusion, hands busy toasting the bread with his wand. Remus thought it was a fair question, all things considered.

“What? No, of course she isn’t. She just has a spare room, and we can stay here for a day or two until we figure out somewhere safe to go. I would’ve taken you to James’s, but that would have meant telling him about your continued existence.”

Remus reached for one of the inexpertly toasted slices and dumped some jam on it. His brain was too tired to work properly. Inexplicably he pictured Dorcas, and he wondered what it would have been like to die tonight. He found that he couldn't quite remember the shade of her eyes anymore. Regulus ventured over to them, eyeing the mirror in the ceiling with some horror, then sat down at the very edge of the bed. They ate and drank their tea in silence, the first rays of the sun looking in at the window by the time they were finished. Remus laid down in the middle of the bed when he couldn’t stay upright anymore, and the last thing he remembered was Sirius spooning him from behind, heavy boots kicking against Remus’s old trainers. 

“Padfoot, where the fuck are you?!”

Remus woke up with a jolt, James’s voice an unreal quiet shout, nearby and faraway at the same time. A heavy body moved beside him, and after a full second of panic he recognized it as Sirius. He was digging through his trousers and trying to sit up. 

“Sirius Black! Please, please, Sirius, answer me!”

James was sounding close to tears and Remus was instantly awake. He sat up in bed, the room was hot and sunny and smelt of sweat and Earl Grey. Regulus had been sleeping curled up at the bottom of the large bed. He was awake too now, warily eyeing Sirius, who had stepped into a corner of the room and was finally getting out the mirror the agitated voice of James was coming from. 

“James.”

“Fuck, Sirius! You absolute wanker, do you know how worried I have been? I thought something had happened, you never turned up at Moody’s.”

“What’s that?”

“Moody was attacked a few hours ago, mate! Ten Death Eaters showed up at his house, got through the protective enchantments. He got out patronuses to us and we fought them off in the end, but you and Moony never showed. Is he there with you?”

“We were attacked too, James. We’re both fine. Or, well, he might not be fine, actually, I haven’t checked yet.” Sirius’s eyes bored into Remus’s, and he reacted instinctively by giving him a comforting smile. Of course he wasn’t fine; he had woken up from being tortured only to realize that Sirius, his best friend, must have used the cruciatus curse on the Death Eater responsible to get revenge. That was as far from alright as it was possible to be.

“You were attacked? The Death Eaters found you in Mile End?”

“Yeah.”

“Is Remus ok? Where are you now?”

“I’ll let you know when we’ve found a new place. We’re safe for the time being. Can you alert someone about the flat? There should be four Death Eaters still there, unless they’ve managed to escape somehow. Is everyone ok on your end?”

“Moody, Gideon, Fabian and Hestia Jones are all hurt, but word is they’ll all pull through. Parts of Moody’s house is burnt to the ground. And Caradoc Dearborn’s house was burnt down as well, but he was fighting with us when his house was attacked, and there was no one else there at the time. They left the Dark Mark over it, though, he had a proper fright when he got back.”

“Good. Listen, I’ll get back to you in an hour or so. Need to talk to Moony.” Sirius stared at the mirror until he was satisfied James had gone, then he came back to the bed and sank down next to Remus. 

“You’ll be in trouble when the aurors see the body in our sitting room,” said Remus quietly.

“He deserved it for cursing you,” said Sirius, who appeared supremely unbothered by what he had done. Remus couldn’t bring himself to ask if it had been the cruciatus curse Sirius had used, as there was a small chance it was something equally horrid that didn’t give the caster a lifetime in Azkaban if caught. The way Regulus was looking at his brother answered the shadow of a question adequately, though.

“I feel fine, no permanent damage,” said Remus instead. His shoulder was sore, but the odd nervous spasms had stopped. 

“We need to get moving, this place can’t be safe,” said Regulus from the foot end of the bed. He was still curled in on himself and looked incredibly young. Which wasn’t that strange as he was incredibly young, Remus corrected himself. They were all much too young to be dealing with this.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Sirius hesitantly. “We could get another muggle place, if you prefer, but there is one place I can think of that already has a wealth of magical protection around it and can only be entered from a secret passageway.”


	59. When my back is turned my bruises shine, our broken fairy tale so hard to hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Biffy Clyro's "Many of Horror". 
> 
> Chapter warning for blood and a dead body.

It had stopped raining in Glasgow. The ground and the pavement were wet and filled with puddles everywhere she looked, which, in all fairness, did set the appropriate mood. Some of the protective enchantments Moody had used on his house were still in effect, as evidenced by how the recent downpour hadn’t touched any part of the building. Normally it would have been a good thing, but as the Death Eaters had set the whole place on fire it had been rather counterproductive to their efforts. But they had managed in the end and the most important rooms had been saved from the fire.

“I’ve half a mind to ask Sirius to teach me occlumency.” 

James looked worried at the statement and Lily watched him bite his lip, struggling between what to him were two commitments of equal magnitude: sharing everything with his fiancé and not talking behind his best friend’s back. 

Lily had told him about the modified batch of forgetfulness potion she was brewing for them all, and so he already knew what her plan b was. If captured, the drinker would forget anything of importance for 48 hours, which would render any Death Eater attempt at legilimency or torturing for information useless. It might also buy the Order enough time to stage a rescue mission. Still, it would be nice to know the bases of occlumency, even if the general consensus seemed to be that there wasn’t a witch or wizard alive who could prevent Voldemort from reading their minds.

“I would have asked him already, but he isn’t doing well mentally, is he? You don’t have to tell me every little thing that passes between you, James, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m worried that he’ll go off the deep end about the murder of the Yaxley woman, they killed her specifically because she had shagged him and he’d be mental not to feel a little responsible. Whatever her beliefs were she hadn’t done anything bad herself, and she should’ve been safe from the Death Eaters since she was getting married to one. And he doesn’t like talking about what happened at the Lestranges’, not just the legilimency but the whole ordeal. I know it was the worst moment of my life, not knowing if he was dead or alive, so Merlin know what it was like for him. I don’t think he knows enough occlumency to teach you if I’m honest, but you should of course do what you reckon is best.” 

James fell silent again. Lily thought it unfair to press for more, and so she left him outside and went back into Moody’s ruined house to see if she could help Marlene and Peter pack up Moody’s assorted security sensors and instruments of magical combat. It looked to be a finicky business; one of the mirrors was showing signs of aggression; stealthy shadows lurking in its depths looking ready to step through the mirror and into the world of the living, and every single sneakoscope was whistling and spinning out of control on their tables and shelves. 

Everyone but Sirius, Remus and Mary had shown up to help Moody. Three people who were acting strangely; Lily still hadn’t found the right moment to ask Sirius and Remus about what they were up to in secret. And something was definitely wrong with Mary; Lily’s (former?) best friend was not acting like herself, was avoiding Lily or maybe the Order in general, and Lily needed to find the time to check up on her soon. As soon as this latest disaster was dealt with.

Lily packed the contents of one of Moody’s desks into a large trunk, amongst the more curious items were several sugar quills (she had never thought of Moody as someone with a sweet tooth), several wands of different makes, a disillusioned notebook that tried to bite her, and an exquisitely crafted snow globe with a disgruntled, bald puffskein inside. When she’d emptied the desk several other Order members had joined the project and she felt that she’d done her duty. She said a word or two of goodbye to Marlene and to Peter, then went back outside in search of James. 

He was putting away his two-way mirror and looking worried. 

“Sirius and Remus were attacked, too,” James told her. “That’s why they didn’t respond to the emergency patronus, probably never got it in the first place. Sirius said they overpowered the Death Eaters and just left them there in Mile End. The MLE haven’t been there yet.”

“You want to go check it out before we notify the Ministry and the rest of the Order?” Lily asked.

“I think I’d better,” James said, looking relieved that she’d cottoned on so quickly. “In case they’ve left something behind that the Ministry oughtn’t see.”

Lily agreed and they left without saying anything to the rest of the Order. They approached the door to their friends’ flat carefully and with their wands at the ready. They could hear nothing, but Sirius had stated that there should be four restrained Death Eaters inside, unless they’d gotten loose or been saved by one of their cronies. 

“Homenum revelio”, Lily whispered, holding onto James’s sleeve tightly and pointing her wand at the closed door of Sirius’s and Remus’s flat. The spell came back with nothing, indicating that the flat was empty. She barely had time to register it before James barged in, his wand slashing out to unlock and open the door as he hurried inside. Lily gave the deserted hallway and staircase behind her one last look before sneaking in after James. 

“Sirius!” she could hear him whisper. There was a body on the floor, and even though she could tell that James was whispering his best mate’s name to the two-way mirror he was holding, and not to the life-less, powerfully built form on the floor, she felt sick to her stomach at the sight. It wasn’t Sirius, though. The body on the floor had brown hair, not black, and wizard’s robes. Sirius never wore wizard’s robes nowadays. 

There was no face left to speak of, Lily could see that the jaw had been dislocated, grotesque little teeth were scattered on the floor and there was dark blood and bone-like fragments exposed between strips of skin. 

“Prongs? What’s wrong, you look bloody wrecked, mate?”

Lily walked up to James and the mirror, just to make sure that it really was Sirius. 

“Did you…” James broke off immediately, sounding strangled. “We’re in the flat, me and Lily. Can you tell me what happened again?”

Lily leant gently on James’s shoulder, face close to his so that Sirius could see them both. She wondered for the umpteenth time if she could trust James’s friends anymore. Sirius looked worried, but then realization seemed to hit him and he looked more angry than anything.

“One of them used the cruciatus curse on Moony.”

“Is Moony okay?” asked James, Lily felt him steel himself underneath her touch. 

“He says he’s fine.”

“How many Death Eaters were there?” 

“Four. Took me a while to overpower them, I had to listen to Moony scream for ages.”

“He’s dead now, Padfoot. The other three must have escaped before we got here. Merlin knows why they’ve left the corpse behind.”

Sirius continued to look stubborn and angry, but he didn’t seem to know what to say. Lily let her eyes trail over the Death Eater again. He was lying in half-dried pools of urine, blood and vomit, which Lily thought was a clear indication that Sirius, too, had used the cruciatus curse. On top of smashing the man’s face in. It was by no means the most badly damaged body she had seen during her short career as an Order member, but the fact that Sirius was responsible for it made it seem a lot more real than the others.

“You’re lucky I didn’t alert the MLE or the aurors yet, mate. I assume he was still breathing when you and Moony ran for it? Do you have the dead bloke’s wand?”

“Yeah, took all four.”

“Good. Hold onto them, in case worst comes to worst and you need to prove that he used an Unforgiveable on Remus. I’ll take care of the body for now, and we’ll hope the Death Eaters leave well alone and don’t try to bring you in front of the Wizengamot for murder.”

Something flickered momentarily in Sirius’s eye, and Lily thought that he may finally have grasped the severity of the situation.

“We’re not telling anyone, then?” he asked.

“Maybe Moody when he’s better?” suggested Lily, finally deciding to make her voice heard. “We’ll clean up here. Do you know who he was, at all?”

“No, never seen him before,” said Sirius. “Thank you,” he continued after a short pause.

“Don’t mention it. Just happy you and Moony made it out and are safe.”

Sirius blinked, three times in quick succession with eyes tired and unfocused, then the mirror went blank as he put it away. 

James turned to her, mouth open, and she could feel the question “do you really want to stay while I cover up my best friend’s crime and make myself an accomplice in the process?” form in his brain. It never left his mouth. Instead, James’s eyes filled with the kind of love usually reserved for fluffy kittens and surprise chocolate cakes and he gave her a very grateful smile.

“Here, take my wand for a second.” Lily took it and looked on curiously as James sat down on the floor as close to the corpse as he could get without sitting in a puddle. He had his palms turned to the body, as if warming them on an open fire, and she could hear him mutter the same incantation a few times under his breath. The body began to mould and change on the floor, soon it looked like a good-sized slab of grey granite, mostly smooth and glittering eerily in the burgeoning daylight. 

“That’s very impressive, James,” she told him, the usual fierce sense of pride warming her just like it always did when he did something it truly took skill or courage or love to do. Wandless transfiguration would be impossible to legally tie to an adult caster, and James’s superior transfiguration skills had left them with a very lifelike rock. Or the opposite, Lily supposed, whatever was appropriate when talking about inanimate rocks that looked like the real thing. 

“Cheers. I think we should take it somewhere very muggle,” said James.

“I think Dartmoor is made up of granite,” Lily suggested. 

James nodded and set quietly to work on the soiled floor, wandlessly trying to remove and clean what he could. Lily went into the bathroom and found some muggle soap and water and an old flannel. With combined muggle and magical methods they cleaned the last remains of the Death Eater up in no time. James then wandered off to check if his friends had left anything incriminating in the bedrooms; Lily wasn’t sure if he was referring to illegal stimulants or if he thought they might have left something concerning the Order behind. 

She took the soap back into the bathroom and, on a complete whim, opened the little mirrored bathroom cabinet. This was something they’d clearly forgotten about when they evacuated, and she was met with some normal muggle painkillers, a see-through bag of an unknown powdered substance, and three separate glasses, all complete with a toothbrush. Lily had a quick look at them and verified that they had all been used. How strange. 

“They’ve left Moony’s magic mushrooms behind, and with the full moon coming up he’ll need them by tomorrow. Did you find anything?”

“Three used toothbrushes,” Lily said, then lifted the painkillers and the mystery powder out to give to James. 

“Maybe Sirius’s one-night-stands use the third?” James suggested with a grimace, a vile suggestion Lily didn’t consider likely. What self-respecting woman would use a strange toothbrush that’d clearly been used and used frequently at that? But she knew better than to voice any concrete suspicions and just shrugged and exited the loo. 

They decided to disillusion themselves since Remus and Sirius were still in possession of the invisibility cloak (they really were using it a lot, weren’t they?). Lily and James then combined their efforts to wandlessly disillusion the granite boulder and to charm it to weigh less and finally to levitate it. It took them a good half-hour to get it working simultaneously and Lily found that it was extremely difficult to get anything to work the way she liked without her wand. There was no way she was being tied to this crime, though, James absolutely had the right idea when he decided to go about it wandless. 

They had to hold onto the boulder as they apparated to a remote corner of Dartmoor, which was no mean feat, but they did succeed without splinching or getting squashed underneath it on arrival. They left it in the valley of some small, desolate hills; no houses, humans or livestock in sight, and even though Lily thought that she could sense the magic in their boulder (or perhaps it was the sinister traces of a violent death or the ruthless character of the dead man that shone through), both she and James agreed that another wizard or witch was unlikely to hit upon it. They apparated back to Godric’s Hollow, exhausted but pleased with their day’s work. 

Lily led an unusually quiet James into the big bathroom upstairs and they got undressed and into the shower in silence. James was clearly deep in thought, and it seemed that not even the sight of Lily’s body was able to shift his mind onto a different track. He spent an excessive amount of time rubbing soap onto her chest (based on the experience she had of taking joint showers, Lily suspected that all men were programmed to believe that women’s breasts required hours of cleaning) but he seemed to be on autopilot, not meeting her gaze and not even getting aroused. She turned him around and lathered his back for him instead, trying to imagine them doing the same in twenty years’ or in fifty years’ time.

James had such a nice, muscular back and she knew he was vain about it. He still did his daily quidditch exercises meticulously even though it was a rare day when he had time to fly on his broom; even rarer that he got to play an actual game. His back was the first thing she had ever complimented him on, back in seventh year, and having her touch it would usually make him preen or flex his muscles for her. Not today, though.

She found it cathartic to wash after the day they’d had. She’d fought more Death Eaters than she could count before dawn, then dealt with a badly injured Moody who had been more concerned with putting out the fire and saving his possessions than he had been about letting them perform first aid on him. Then there had been the horrific discovery of the corpse and the subsequent hiding of it, which she thought had bothered James a lot more than it had her. James was developing a history of reacting quite strongly to the atrocities of war they were forced to witness, something she hadn’t caught onto immediately as he had usually been with Sirius straight after. He’d cried more often than not, she thought, not for long but just to drain himself of the bad emotions. He was always back to normal soon after, acting as if nothing much had happened. She wondered if that was what he was doing now, turned away from her and with his face leaning into the spray from the showerhead. It wasn’t a bad coping method, she thought, and she kissed his back when she was done with the soap in an attempt to tell him it would all be ok. 

She could see them here, in the same shower, at 79. They’d have a different cat, unless Freya had extraordinary powers they knew nothing of, and they’d have more battle wounds, she thought, but the two of them would make it. Maybe they’d even have grandchildren visiting on the weekends, and maybe Sunday roasts with the Marauders would be an age-old tradition still observed by them. But that meant they’d have to keep those three alive, too, and that would take some effort. 

She could hear a little sniffle from her fiancé, and her heart clenched in sympathy. That’s what James is mourning, she suddenly realized; he doesn’t think they’ll all make it. Maybe he doesn’t even think that the two of us will. She kissed an old scar on his back left by a Slytherin beater’s bat in a rough match James had won for them a long time ago. She would have to try harder to keep them all safe, make sure Remus and Sirius didn’t do anything more stupid than they already had. She was without a doubt the love of James’s life, but she was under no illusion that the Marauders meant anything less to him than she did. She would keep them all safe, if that’s what it took to keep James happy.


	60. I love it and I leave it and I watch it burn, damn this wild young heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from "Wild Young Hearts" by the Noisettes.

They all gathered in the Three Broomsticks on the day of the full moon. Remus was on his special medication and the rest had decided that a pint or two wouldn’t hurt. Sirius had privately decided not to alter his appearance, even though they were in public, and James had either forgotten to transfigure his face or was being as nonchalant about it as Sirius. They had found a booth in the corner, which was an unusual place to sit for the five of them. During their Hogwarts days Sirius and James had always made sure they were the centre of attention, and their infatuation with the new barmaid, Madam Rosmerta, had meant that they had always preferred a table close to the bar. 

It would be a lie to say that the recent death hadn’t had its impact on Sirius. And by the recent death he meant Ruth, of course, and not the nameless Death Eater who had tortured Moony and only been given his due. Ruth had not been a kind or tolerant woman, of that Sirius was sure, but she had been a far better human than the scum of the earth that made up your typical Death Eater. And her only crime in their eyes had been to sleep with him; known blood traitor and Order member. 

It was a mild comfort to him that he had shagged her once before learning of the horcruxes. The first time had been just for sex with no ulterior motives. The subsequent times had all been tied to the retrieval of the cup, and he knew that made him no better than a common whore. But needs must, and all that. Would he have done it if he knew she would get killed for it? Sirius wasn’t sure, but he thought it possible that he would have. He had no right to sacrifice her for their cause, but sometimes you did have to think of the future of the whole community, didn’t you? Or did you? Sirius knew that he was possibly the worst person to make a call like that, and yet in hindsight he had. But, as he tried to make his thick head and sinking stomach understand, he hadn’t told anyone about it, except Remus and Regulus. And he knew neither of them had talked. Surely that meant it hadn’t been his fault that it got out and she was murdered? And it wasn’t as if he had coerced the woman in any way, she had been happy enough to fuck around even though she knew full well who he was. It wasn’t his fault. Blaming her for her own death wasn’t right, either.

He still wondered if the blame couldn’t be put at Benjy Fenwick’s door. Fenwick was the one who had told at least the whole of the Order about the romp, and he was an annoying git in general. If only he’d been working for the other side Sirius thought it would have been nice to challenge him to a duel. It wasn’t fair that Sirius was the one who felt guilty about this.

“I don’t want to upset you, mate, but word is that Fenwick is suggesting you’re the one who leaked Moody’s address to the Death Eaters.”

“Absolute tosser, that one. Does he think I invited them to come rough us up in Mile End too?” 

“Based on what Marlene told me, Benjy believes that you staged it with some Death Eater pals of yours. Something about how you very conveniently managed to flee, both you and the Death Eaters. Of course he thinks it’s suspicious that you didn’t report it to the MLE afterwards, either.”

“How many Death Eaters were there?” asked Peter. Sirius and James purposefully did not look at one another; years of near-symbiosis had left them perfectly capable of lying and deflecting in sync without giving themselves away.

“Three. One got to Remus immediately and I only held out by the skin of my teeth. They were quite young, we think, and they did all scarper in the end.”

“We would have come to help you if we’d known you were in trouble”, Peter said solemnly. He was sitting furthest in with Remus propped up against him. Sirius was usually the one Remus leant on and sat next to, and it hadn’t escaped him that Remus had chosen Peter to support him today. Sirius hadn’t told Remus or Regulus that the Death Eater had died on their sitting room floor, and he was grateful James and Lily had agreed to keep it quiet as well. Remus had not been himself since it happened, but Sirius still hoped that it had more to do with the damage he had suffered, their swift relocation to the Grumpy Bowtruckle and then the Shrieking Shack, and of course the imminent full moon.

The four of them were spending the full moon in the Forbidden Forest, and Sirius, Remus and Regulus were now living permanently in the Shrieking Shack. They had agreed that it was the best place for them, as the only way to enter it was through the secret passage. The house was guarded by Dumbledore’s magical protections, which had kept everyone out for the last 8 years, except for the people who knew about the entrance by the Whomping Willow. Those people were Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, the Marauders, Regulus, Lily and Snape. 

Hiding in a place their boyhood nemesis could get into was of course not ideal, but after having weighed the pros and cons they had still decided that it was the safest they were going to be. There was no fireplace connected to the floo network, there was no way of apparating into the house or of breaking into the house the muggle way, and to enter through the willow you had to break into the Hogwarts grounds first. Of course you could circumvent all the obstacles by apparating straight into the secret passageway, but they were hopeful that Snape’s single and massively traumatic experience in said passageway had not left him with a very detailed memory of it, and it was nigh on impossible to apparate into it without minute knowledge of the twists and turns of the passage. In fact, poor Regulus had spent over an hour in there trying to commit it to memory so that he would be able to apparate back there the next day. 

Sirius was trying to keep the four of them in the Forbidden Forest throughout the night, but once the next day dawned it might be that James or Peter would insist of coming with them to the Shrieking Shack, maybe to relive old memories or just to check on Remus, see that he got safely tucked into bed. And if one of them did, Regulus had to be somewhere else. He had taken the invisibility cloak and gone to Malfoy Manor, although Sirius didn’t know if he would look for the horcrux through the night or if he had other plans as well. 

“We appreciate it, Wormy. There was no time to send a patronus, otherwise we would’ve notified you. Is Moody on the mend?”

“He’s at the Bones’s house, not allowed to walk yet. Which is code for: in a foul mood and telling everyone else to watch their back as usual. He’s the strongest man the Order has, I don’t see anyone short of Voldemort taking him down. That Skeeter woman is dragging his name through the mud in the papers, though.”

“What’s she writing? I haven’t touched the _Prophet_ in months.”

“Well, the head of the aurors’ office going missing was too much of a temptation for her. She’s writing that he went off the rails and blew his own house up, and that he’s now being treated in the Janus Thickey ward at St Mungo’s. The hospital has refused to comment on whether or not they’re treating him, which is bloody stupid since it inevitably fuels the rumours. There was no Dark Mark over his house, and so the fire isn’t immediately Voldemort-connected.”

Sirius was about to contribute his outrage to this when Remus’s head swivelled up from Peter’s shoulder at the name. He had been too tired or stoned to contribute much to the conversation so far.

“Oh yeah, have you heard about what the _Prophet_ is suggesting about Voldemort? It’s old news that they will only refer to him as ‘You-Know-Who’ nowadays, but now Skeeter’s even suggesting he might be a figment of Moody’s overactive imagination! She’s trying to discredit the idea that the Death Eaters are an organized group with a strict hierarchy, she even wrote that they may be a group of ‘foreign’ wizards who’ve come to Britain to stir up British politics.”

“That’s sick,” Sirius exclaimed, fists clenched into hard weapons, “hasn’t she realized that people are dying every week? Not to mention the people who just vanish, disappear from their own homes and are never found again.”

“Hear, hear,” James said, but as Sirius’s gaze went to Remus’s to absorb further support from him, he noticed that Peter was staring uncomfortably into his pint, suddenly the picture of non-confrontational discord. What could Peter mean by that look? Sirius tensed angrily; mind and body ready for a fight. 

“It’s your round, Sirius.” James was staring pointedly at him, effortlessly neutralizing Sirius’s temper with just the right shade of stubbornness, sympathy and ‘let’s deal with it later’ in his hazel eyes. 

Sirius nodded curtly and walked over to Madam Rosmerta, whose customers were few at this hour of the day. Some locals were discussing the quidditch league in the artificially hushed tones Sirius was beginning to connect with being at war. A couple of seventh-year Hogwarts students were giggling over butterbeers, giving every impression of having snuck out without permission. Sirius wondered if they had used the secret passageway that started in a broom cupboard near the entrance hall. The Marauder’s had let the rest of the school in on its location as a farewell gift to the younger students; in fact they had thrown a rather rambunctious last day of term-party there the previous year, a party that had extended through the secret passage (prettily lit up with red and gold lanterns Sirius and Lily had designed together) and out into the Three Broomsticks, which just so happened to be right next to where the passageway terminated. The caretaker and probably most of the teachers consequently knew about the passageway now, but Sirius supposed that with some daring and good timing students might still successfully use it. 

“Four pints of your finest mead, please.” Sirius finished the sentence with his most charming smile, and had it returned by Madam Rosmerta. She wasn’t much older than him, he was sure, maybe a contemporary of his cousin Bellatrix. Rosmerta was a very attractive woman, and there was something about barmaids that made Sirius flirt a little bit extra as a rule. The two students, unfortunately, were giggling in his direction now and watching him with undisguised fascination. 

“What brings you back to Hogsmeade, love?” Madam Rosmerta asked him, “I’m only used to seeing you lot when there’s fighting on the horizon.”

“No fighting tonight I hope,” said Sirius comfortingly. She was leaning over rather a lot to pour the pints, making him wonder if she was teasing him on purpose, or if he was reading too much into it. Keeping eye-contact with her was becoming quite a challenge, though. 

“Of course you used to sneak in here all the time only a short year ago,” she continued, “and some before then, too. I remember chasing you lot out of here when you tried to order Firewhisky and thought you could ask me impertinent questions.”

“Lucky for us that not all Hogsmeade facilities have the same scruples that you do. Mind you, Aberforth really didn’t like me propositioning him any better than you did.” 

That made Rosmerta chuckle, and the students sneak closer to Sirius, seductive smiles on their young faces. It made Sirius very uncomfortable, and he decided to try his luck with Rosmerta out loud and hopefully kill two puffskeins with one stone. 

“Maybe you’d respond differently if I asked you now, seeing as I’m out of school,” he said.

“What on earth would you want with an old thing like me?” Rosmerta laughed, setting down the last two pints in front of Sirius. “Fit young warrior such as yourself? If you’re this desperate you should absolutely have another go at Abe though, the headmaster has reliably informed me that our Abe has plans to move on from bovids.”

“Out of all my mates I’m not the one with hooves,” muttered Sirius, but aloud he said: “I’ll bring my motorbike around next time I come see you, and then you and Aberforth can duel each other. Winner gets a ride.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Rosmerta said with a wink, and Sirius busied himself with getting all four pints into his arms so that he could carry them all at the same time. It was a trick he still wasn’t completely confident in, but he managed to get the mead to the table without much spillage. James was prattling on as usual, but Peter was still unnaturally quiet. 

“Remus, are you still awake? Mary was asking me and Lily if we could show her the protective enchantments we’ve used at home, but I told her she’d better get in touch with you. You’ll be able to help her with that, right? Can owls even find you now that you’re staying in such a secret location?”

“Post owls are smart little buggers, aren’t they, I don’t see why they wouldn’t be able to find us,” said Sirius, handing round the pints. Remus really looked as if he was half asleep. “Should we eat here, or in the little restaurant up by Gladrags?”

In the end they decided to eat at the Three Broomsticks, and then snuck through the secret passageway that ended up by the greenhouses. The night in the Forbidden Forest was an unusually calm one, as if even Moony was exhausted from the packed week Remus had had. Maybe the werewolf was pleased to be back in its favourite forest. It meant an easier night for the rest of them, and they were all in uncommonly good shape when Remus turned back at dawn.

James and Peter both decided to apparate inside the tunnel rather than come with to the Shrieking Shack. This suited Sirius as it meant Regulus could come back sooner than expected. He carried Remus all the way through the tunnel. It hurt his back and arms, but in a good way. Bumping his head on the ceiling of the tunnel did not hurt as good, but he managed to refrain from shouting obscenities at the stonewalls. 

The Shrieking Shack had three upstairs bedrooms, none of them large and all of them still a bit dirty even after their combined cleaning efforts. He put Remus to bed feeling a bit like the parent of a child suffering from dragon pox. Remus was too sleepy to say more than a hoarse “thank you”, and then he was fast asleep. 

Sirius picked up his wand and performed the modified patronus spell that let him send a message to a person of his choice. It was one of Dumbledore’s strokes of genius; the patronus would only appear and deliver the message if the recipient was alone, making it impossible for unauthorized people to intercept the message. He had told Regulus about the spell, but his brother had never seen it in action. Sirius secretly hoped his brother would shit himself from fright when the huge, ghostlike dog appeared from nowhere and started reciting Sirius’s message. Or maybe he was just tired. 

Sirius managed to take a very quick and disappointing shower in the cracked old bathtub (the pipes in the Shack didn’t work very well as they had never been intended for use) before he heard Regulus’s footsteps in the sitting room. Feeling just a little bit hopeful that this might be the day when Regulus found the remaining horcrux, Sirius hurried downstairs, towel barely covering the essentials (Regulus kept complaining about Sirius’s unnatural predisposition to nudity. Unnatural indeed), and found his brother pacing agitatedly. Regulus looked up, wand lifted, and didn’t even seem to register the mostly naked form he claimed to find so appalling.

“I was attacked by one of your lot. Barely got away. Sirius, I think he knew who I was!”


	61. It's no laughing party when you've been on the murder mile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title comes from "Oliver's Army" by Elvis Costello.

“If you had called in sick today, I would have had to fire you for being a werewolf.” 

Peter twisted his hands nervously and stared at the Owner. The Owner was laughing as if he’d told a brilliant joke, supremely unaware of his employee’s reaction. Peter finally managed a giggle, but even he could tell that it sounded more like a nervous hiccough.

“Last month you were ill just after the full moon, I thought it was rather funny. Joking aside, I’m extremely glad that you haven’t gotten sick recently. Losing miss Rai has been a huge blow, I cannot pretend otherwise. We’re running a big business here, and with the times being what they are it’s difficult to find someone new to hire.”

Peter nodded, putting on his most knowledgeable face and letting himself enjoy the feeling of being included in trade-talk. Quality Quidditch Supplies was still doing alright despite the precarious state of most high street retailers in magical Britain. Lakshana Rai, Peter’s colleague, was amongst the people who had decided to flee Britain because of the war. The disappearances and murders of muggleborns and so-called blood-traitors were continuously on the rise and many were choosing to leave rather than stay, as staying was increasingly likely to mean getting involved in the fighting. This had been the first week with just Peter and the Owner working in the shop.

“I really like it here,” Peter said dutifully and tapped the till absentmindedly with the hammer. It pinged open accommodatingly, and Peter hurried to close it again. It was mostly true, Peter really did like it here. Perhaps he wasn’t much of a sales person (at least that was what his mother had suggested once or twice, although what her merits for judging such matters were remained unclear) but he enjoyed the routine of working in the shop. Meeting new customers and recognizing old ones (he was bad with names but surprisingly good at recognizing faces and what said faces had bought on previous visits to the shop), arranging the same items on the same shelves over and over and occasionally getting a shipment of something new to add to the shelves filled hours of his life. It was a soothing job to have when the world outside was blowing up. It also helped that the Owner wasn’t a muggleborn, meaning the shop probably wouldn’t be targeted by the Death Eaters. They had, however, been forced to clean up some pro-Voldemort graffiti that morning. There had been an exponential increase in magical graffiti after the famous creations in Knockturn Alley on the night of James's stag-do, but most of it was easy to clean up as nobody but Sirius seemed to have taken the leap into investing in muggle spray paint. 

“That’s the spirit. Now, I’ve got some business to take care of in the stock room today and I’d appreciate it if you can avoid disturbing me.”

“I can do that,” Peter agreed, sounding almost confident. He managed to get through the morning’s customers on his own, although he wasn’t sure he’d given the right advice on how best to trim the birch branches at the end of a four-year-old Supernova, indeed he did not need to disturb the Owner until it was time for his break.

During his lunch hour Peter had the distinct feeling that somebody was watching him. He’d gone to the pub as usual, but both on the way there and on the way back he felt a strange prickling at the back of his neck. Peter prided himself in being observant, and the Marauders often joked that it had to do with his animagus form. Just about every animal was dangerous to a rat and Peter was used to being on his guard. Admittedly he was becoming more paranoid with every Order meeting and mission. The previous night it had been on the tip of his tongue to ask his friends if they suffered from the same affliction, but they had all seemed oddly detached yesterday, and not in a paranoid and scared way. It was more as if they were working hard on keeping secrets, secrets they were keeping not just from the Order but from their fourth Marauder as well. Peter wondered bitterly if Lily had been let in on it.

Nobody had been happier than Peter when James and Lily finally got together. It had been years in the making and James really deserved to finally have his affections returned after all the work he had put into wooing her, finely sandpapering away the blunt edges of his Lily had taken issue with until he finally emerged as the perfect boyfriend. This sequence of events had made perfect sense to Peter, even though Remus had chastised him for saying that James ‘deserved’ to have his affections returned and that Lily had been under no obligation to give him anything. Peter still wasn’t quite sure what Remus meant by that, but at least they had all agreed that it was good that Lily loved James and that they made a splendid couple. This had been a most comfortable state of affairs until Peter started to feel threatened by Lily, wondering if she was angling for his place in the quartet of madness and camaraderie that was the Marauders. 

Peter knew he should tell the others about his fears, especially since he was sure that the inclusion of Lily and exclusion of him was a subconscious switch that could be rectified. But the thought of having to look James, Remus and Sirius in the eye and tell them he felt neglected and underappreciated was a daunting one. Sirius would no doubt laugh at him and call him a plonker, which Peter got enough of from his mother already (although the word 'plonker' admittedly wasn't in her vocabulary. Yet.) James would feel bad and Remus would be embarrassed, but Peter didn’t want to have to spell it out for them. He thought they really should notice what they were doing to him without prompting. And of course he did still like Lily, even if she might be trying to steal his place. James loved her, and that was as good a recommendation as any mortal could get. Lily was a nice enough witch too, although she was almost too talented. If Peter hadn’t been used to James and Sirius, who were the same way, he would have found her varied skills and unquestionable intelligence quite annoying. Envy sometimes lurked quite close to the surface in Peter’s mind, and it was not something he wished to advertise to the others. They pitied him enough as it was.

His inner rat was very much at the forefront of his mind. He didn’t dare look around too much lest he alert whoever it was that he knew he was being watched. Instead he scurried up the street at an uncharacteristic pace to the safety of Quality Quidditch Supplies, where the Owner welcomed him back by checking his watch, shaking his head, and burying himself in the stock room again.

Peter had just sold some knee padding and a detachable broom saddle to an elderly witch when he spotted a new customer. A sketchy bloke with unkempt hair and a lumpy overcoat that looked much too warm for the lovely spring weather April had brought with it was suddenly browsing at the opposite end of the room, and Peter had a bad feeling that he was expected to eject the wizard before he pinched something. Never good at direct confrontation, Peter hung back beside his till and his hammer, nervously fidgeting and avoiding looking at the dodgy character and sneezing several times. There was a lot of pollen in the air.

“How nice it is to see old students in their current pursuits,” said Dumbledore. He was beaming and dressed in flowy lilac robes and Peter had no idea where he had come from.

“Professor!” Peter wheezed, trying to hide the handkerchief he’d been emptying his nose into. His pollen allergy really was getting the better of him, might be time to swallow his pride and ask Lily for a potion. 

“I rather fancy a new racing broom,” Dumbledore said, “my old one has developed a regrettable habit of listing towards starboard.”

Peter stared open-mouthedly at him, incapable of picturing the age-old man with the long white beard and the fabulous robes astride a racing broom. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the shady wizard he had been gathering courage to shoo out of the shop exiting by the semi-hidden back door, which as a rule was only used by the Owner and by Peter. Peter had a strong feeling that Dumbledore, too, had taken note of the mystery man, even though he was facing the other way. 

“Is everything quite alright with you, Mr Pettigrew?” 

“Yes, of course,” said Peter, still shocked by his unexpected customer. Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes appeared to scan right through him, as if he was not just looking for clues but actually reading everything there was to Peter just by looking into his eyes. Peter shivered uncomfortably.

“There’s nothing on your mind that you’d like to discuss?” asked Dumbledore.

Peter shook his head nervously. It was very difficult to keep looking at Dumbledore, but at the same time Peter thought it would have been impossible to look away. Finally, although it was probably just a second later, Dumbledore smiled a little and gave him a small nod.

“I’ve also come to give you this,” he continued, handing Peter a tiny scroll of parchment. Peter gave the room a furtive sweep with his eyes as he accepted the scroll. The only other customers were deep in conversation by the window display, and Peter thought he could detect a trace of some charm working around himself and Dumbledore. The old headmaster probably knew every spell in the book to keep out eavesdroppers. The note was short and straight to the point. It read “ _The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found in the Fairy Pools on the Isle of Skye._ ” Peter had barely finished reading the note when it suddenly caught fire and crumbled into white ash in his hands. 

“It is a bit chilly to plunge in at this time of year, I admit,” continued Dumbledore, as if the two of them were in the middle of a normal conversation. “Now, what broom can you recommend a mature gentleman who is an experienced flyer and who has, at times, been called a 'speed devil' by some members of the Wizengamot and an old Minister or two?”

Peter grinned despite himself and showed Professor Dumbledore the way to the newest model of the Cleansweep. 

It was some time later that Peter again found himself alone behind the till, having wrapped the Cleansweep in brown paper and painstakingly printed a receipt for Dumbledore, who had left the shop humming merrily.

“In the Fairy Pools?” muttered Peter to himself. “ _In_?” That made no sense at all. “Speed devil?” he continued, now with a snort of laughter that turned into an embarrassed cough when a new customer entered the shop. He was still smiling to himself when she stepped up to the till, casting a sly look behind her to see if anyone was close by. The only other customer was moving towards the exit, giving Peter a jolly wave on the way out, which he returned with equal cheer. Despite Dumbledore’s weirdness he had bought a broom, and every big sale added a sense of achievement into the murky depths of worry and despondency that inhabited Peter. The woman waited patiently until the other customer was out of the door.

“Peter Pettigrew, isn’t it? I’ve heard some good things about you.”

“Oh?” said Peter doubtfully. The young woman was stocky and would have been plain without the abundance of makeup on her face. She was wearing traditional witches’ robes. She thrust her hand into his, and he shook it nervously, his palms sweaty.

“Felicity Goyle, but everyone calls me Fliss,” the woman told him and gave him a nice enough smile.

“Nice to meet you,” said Peter confusedly, wondering if this woman could have something to do with Dumbledore or the Order. Somehow, she didn’t seem quite right for that.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time. You’re rather a bright young man, but not very well connected and stuck in a job that is far beneath you.”

“Oh?” Peter said again. “I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”

“These are difficult times,” the witch said, “and there are some changes happening in our society. You are one of the people who might benefit from it, though only with the right connections. I may be able to help you further your career and renew your circle of friends.”

Peter felt the sweat on his neck and back now, too. He wasn’t the sharpest wand in Ollivander’s, but he felt pretty certain that this woman was talking about Voldemort.

“Who sent you?” he asked. It felt foolish to ask her, and even more foolish that he couldn’t inconspicuously get to the wand in his pocket, nor to the hammer by the till without her noticing.

The witch hesitated, her front teeth worried at her colourful bottom lip. She seemed to sense that he wasn’t open for negotiations, and eventually she gave him a patronizing little smile. There were blood red stains on her front teeth from her lipstick.

“If you want to talk it over, an owl addressed to my name will find me. I’ll let you think it over a bit, yeah? I’m sure you’ll make the right decision in the end.”

She did not wait for a reply but turned and walked to the door. She was already outside, door shutting behind her, when Peter came to his senses.

“Get out!” he shouted, voice cracking from the strain. His whole body was drenched in sweat, and he felt panic building and shrinking in cold waves inside of him. The Owner stuck a disapproving head out of the stock room and tutted at him. Peter barely noticed.


	62. I am the resurrection and I am the life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "I am the Resurrection" by the Stone Roses.

Moody was still not well enough to plan all Order assignments and Alice Longbottom had been temporarily tasked with it. She had rather annoyingly decided that Mary Macdonald should go with Marlene and Remus and Peter. Mary had not been on any missions at all as far as Marlene knew, and a more half-hearted member of the Order Marlene could not think of. Mary seemed uninterested in everything they said and had kept almost completely quiet all morning. Peter was jumpier than a rabbit and his allergies were rearing their ugly head as he kept sneezing. Remus was kind and considerate as usual, but Marlene did think he seemed preoccupied. The usual banter between the two wizards was sporadic at best, and that if anything was a clear indication that something was wrong. Marlene had gone straight to the point and asked the two if they had argued, even though she knew that was unheard of within their foursome. Remus had seemed perplexed and Peter had blushed and sniffed and muttered something about Lily she didn’t quite catch. Marlene didn’t think anyone was any the wiser, but Remus did put in the occasional effort at small talk after that.

Brighton beach looked misty with the occasional cold breeze sneaking in and dispersing the clinging wet air. As an avid child of the sun, Marlene had decided to try and lure warmer weather to Britain by dressing in an impractical white muggle dress, which also required her to use various charms to keep the cold wet air from her. She looked good, though, especially when the breeze caught her loose hair, and she didn’t mind the extra effort she had to make to stay warm. She also remembered countless of times Mary had disapproved of her style of clothes back at Hogwarts, and Marlene wasn’t afraid to admit to herself that these memories had played a role in her choice of clothing this morning. So far, Mary had barely looked at her though. 

They had been told that there had been some suspected Death Eater activity on the abandoned West Pier but had seen no evidence of it. The pierhead was long since closed to muggles because of safety concerns, and the three of them had indeed found traces of magic when they ventured out to the abandoned Victorian concert hall and tea rooms at the pierhead, the magic ensuring that the unstable structure kept from falling into the ocean. None of it seemed malicious in nature; something Remus had been of great help establishing. He did have his uses, and Marlene had become increasingly fond of him since the whole werewolf reveal. To her great disappointment he was completely uninterested in discussing his inner wolf with her, and no amount of gentle prodding enabled him to open up about it. 

The others had stopped on the pier to watch the uncharacteristically calm ocean and the squeeling seagulls. At least Marlene thought that was what they were doing; they weren’t speaking although they had all stopped walking for no discernible reason. She wanted to tear at her hair in desperation over the company.

“Last one in is a flobberworm!” she shouted to her unresponsive audience as she took off her shoes. She twirled dramatically with her hands raised like a ballerina, then jogged down to the beach, set for the water. The pebbles were hard and cold underneath her feet and the beach was completely deserted at this spot. Her Gryffindor bravery was roaring inside of her, egging her on. 

The water was freezing, which of course didn't come as a surprise. The charms she had cast helped, but her feet in particular felt like blocks of ice in no time. The waves were much bigger now that she was one with them. Giggling madly, she threw herself in just to prove that she wasn’t scared. She emerged wet and cold and so very alive, it made her laugh even more, this time in relief. Life was still good, you just had to take your joys where you could get them. Remus and Peter were laughing and waving from the pier, which added to her giddiness. She ran like a mad woman, on feet she could barely feel, through the heavy waves of water and all the way up the pebbles to the wooden steps of the pier. 

“Quit asking, you’ll meet her at the wedding,” Peter was saying as she got back to them, and Marlene thought he was speaking unnecessarily loudly, as if he was hoping everyone around him was listening in. Both Peter and Remus turned to grin at her, and she started digging through her dress pockets for her wand. There was an awkward choking noise coming from one of the boys, and Marlene began giggling through her chattering teeth as she spotted the reason for it.

Her breasts were of a modest size, but her cold and bright pink nipples were making themselves admirably known underneath the white cloth of her dress, a bright pink that was mirrored in the faces of Peter and Remus when she looked back up at them. They were now looking in all directions except at her. 

Still laughing, she raised her wand to perform a drying spell but stopped as she caught sight of Mary. Mary was smiling vaguely at her, seemingly completely unaware of everything. There was no disapproval there, no comment on the perks of wearing a bra when in public, no judgemental sneering.

“Where is it Lily and James live, again?” Mary asked.

“Have you never been?” asked Peter who had turned physically away from Marlene, some surprise mingling with the embarrassment in his voice. 

“Bugger,” whispered Marlene, thumping heartbeat becoming loud in her ears as realization hit. She acted swiftly and strode over to Mary. One rough tackle and they were both falling.

There was an almighty splash as their bodies hit the water, they were quite near the shallows but Marlene didn’t think she had hit any rocks. Her left side, which had been turned to the water as she struck the surface, was smarting like hundreds of beestings. There was loud shouting from above, and the sound of fast running on wood. Marlene sloshed around, numb feet hitting the bottom. Mary was whimpering beside her, dark hair plastered over most of her face. 

“Merlin’s beard, Marlene, what are you doing?” Remus was getting into the water from the beach with his wand raised and pointing at her, and Peter was just behind, panting heavily but he had kept up with his friend.

“She’s imperiused,” explained Marlene, who was closing in on Mary despite the threatening wand Remus was pointing at her. The other witch let out a soft groan. Marlene could hear their teeth chattering almost in sync.

“What?!” 

“She’s the one who’s been leaking our addresses to the Death Eaters. She must be under the imperius curse.” 

“Mary?” Remus was by their side now, his wand pointing uncertainly at Mary instead. Marlene could tell that she was crying. This close to the other woman, Marlene started noticing other things, too. Mary had lost a lot of weight, for instance. She had never been heavy but this near and with the clothes clinging to her, Marlene was able to make out collarbones and hipbones in a way she was certain she wouldn’t have been able to in school. Her hair was longer than Marlene had ever seen it, suggesting she had stopped taking care of herself some time ago. 

“Expelliarmus,” Marlene said, but she said it without heat or urgency. She rather thought the cold water had been enough of a shock to bring Mary’s senses back to her, the other witch seemed utterly sad and broken. Marlene handed Mary’s wand to Remus, in case he didn’t believe Marlene’s theory and still thought she had randomly attacked Mary. He pocketed the wand, then stretched a hand out to Mary.

“It’s alright, let’s get you out of the water. You must be freezing.”

Mary didn’t raise her head, but she did take the hand and let herself be pulled towards the shore. Her fingers and wrist were sickeningly thin. Marlene followed and started blowing hot air out of her wand before she was even out of the water. Luckily, their plunge hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention, and the muggles she could see were some distance away.

Mary held her head in both hands, and she moaned as if she was about to be sick. Marlene and Remus turned their jets of hot air on her at the same time, but she continued to shiver even after she was dry. Peter was jumping from foot to foot in agitation, and Remus’s face was set in severe lines that made him look ancient. Then, Mary’s head whipped up, hair a mess around her face but she was looking straight at Marlene.

“I told them where your family lives.”

Marlene wanted to punch her, but she kept her tightly coiled fists by her sides.

“I couldn’t fight it, I’m so sorry!” Something inside Mary burst, and tears welled in her eyes as she tumbled to the ground. 

“You’ll be okay, we’ve got you Mary,” Remus said, lifting her with some effort and continuing to mumble soothing things to her. Marlene caught Peter’s eye, and he looked as terrified as she felt. Marlene snapped out of it.

“Can you two take her somewhere, I need to get my parents. My sister and brother are home, too, it's the Easter holidays.” She didn’t stop for a second longer, but turned on the spot, ignoring potential muggle witnesses, and apparated onto the country road behind her parents’ house. 

Packing four lifetimes’ worth of personal belongings in a matter of minutes was just as difficult as anyone could have predicted. Marlene did no such thing herself: after she had shouted her hurried orders to her family (who caught the gravity of the situation surprisingly quickly, which Marlene took to be a sign of the times in combination with their hitherto unconfirmed suspicions that she worked for the Order) she stood guard in the front garden, barefoot as she had forgotten her shoes on the pier and pointing her wand steadily towards the empty fields at the front of the property. 

“I’ve packed you a set of clothes, too, and the things I saw on your desk.” It was Marlene’s mother, and she was holding a bright blue rucksack Marlene recognized as her own. She had gone muggle camping once, with Lily and Mary and Dorcas. Marlene blinked away some tears and took the rucksack. Then she led her family to the fireplace, trying to stay calm even at the sight of their pale, frightened faces. 

“The headmaster’s office, Hogwarts,” Marlene said clearly as she threw some powder into the erupting, green flames. Her parents looked rather impressed as it suddenly became clear who they were going to see. She took a steadying breath and stepped through the flames.

“Miss McKinnon, what a pleasure.” Dumbledore was standing by a large red and gold bird that was sitting on a perch in a nook. Marlene tentatively identified the creature as a phoenix. If Dumbledore was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it, nor did he show it as her siblings and then her mother and her father appeared, all carrying various bags and suitcases and her father holding onto an owl, a cat and a toad. 

“Mary Macdonald was under the imperius curse, and she has just told me that the Death Eaters know where I live,” Marlene explained quickly. “Remus and Peter are taking care of her.”

Dumbledore had looked mildly surprised when she spoke Mary’s name, as if it was not the name he had been expecting, but now he nodded a couple of times to himself. Marlene’s father shuffled about nervously beside her, and she was sure her parents found it beyond strange how people they didn’t know acting behind their backs could have such a profound effect on their lives.

“I have some wizarding contacts in France and in Japan,” said Dumbledore, who was moving towards Marlene’s parents now to shake their hands and, it appeared, to say hello to the assortment of pets clinging to Marlene’s father.

“My sister lives in the Bahamas,” injected Marlene’s mother nervously. She was looking at her oldest daughter, and Marlene could tell that she was in awe of the familiarity between her and Dumbledore. Her parents, like most of the wizarding world, thought of Dumbledore as a living legend.

“That will do admirably. I’m told the Caribbean is very agreeable at this time of year. I will ready a portkey for you.”

Marlene expected Dumbledore to get going with some paperwork, or perhaps floo call somebody for the portkey, but instead he picked up a copy of _Transfiguration Today_ from his desk. 

“Would you tell me the name of your sister, please?”

“Antonia Fawley,” said Mrs McKinnon nervously. 

The family watched with undisguised fascination as Dumbledore pointed his wand at the magazine and said “portus”. It glowed a neon blue for a few seconds. 

“This will take you straight there. It will also return to this office in exactly a week’s time, which will be 8 o’clock in the morning local time in the Bahamas. I suspect you wish to return for the wedding.” Dumbledore’s glinting blue eyes were on Marlene. “A little holiday before that calamity should do you some good. I hope you return to the Order after the wedding, but if you deem it too dangerous I will of course respect your wishes.”

Marlene opened her mouth to say that she didn’t need a holiday, that she would absolutely be back to Order work as soon as her family was relocated. The words died on her lips as she realized how exhausted she was, how angry she was at Mary, how lucky they all were to be here. She would come back, of course, but maybe a few days rest in the sun would do her some good. It was probably warm and sunny in the Caribbean. She nodded, and Dumbledore turned to her brother and sister instead.

“If either of you wish to return to school you can let me know. Postal services in the old colonies are reasonably fast. I think I can guarantee your safety here at Hogwarts, but since Marlene’s name has been compromised it is unfortunately impossible for me to make any promises. I would recommend that you put up all the usual safety measures outside of your relative’s house, and that none of you tell anyone of the location you have gone to.”

There was agreement all around, and then Marlene found herself clasping the latest issue of _Transfiguration Today_ , her family comfortingly around her. The odd sensation of something latching onto her navel and dragging her into time and space hit her, and they were lifted from Dumbledore’s office as the magazine glowed blue. It was time for a surprise family reunion and as many mojitos as she could drink.


	63. I'm well aware of how it aches, and you still won't let me in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Placebo's "Song to say Goodbye". 
> 
> Chapter warning for mental health issues.

“We got to the rest of your family in time, they’re safe,” Lily said quietly. “Your mum and dad, and Phil and Charlie, and your grandmother. Your older brother is missing, though, he hasn’t been going to his classes and his university digs are empty, hasn’t been lived in for weeks. I think you’re right in thinking that they have him.”

Mary nodded and tried to make herself smaller. A thick blue blanket Lily’s mother had woven was around her shoulders and the fire in the sitting room in Godric’s Hollow was crackling spiritedly. The teacup Lily had put down on the sofa table for Mary hours before was still there, Mary noticed awkwardly; cold and untouched. Lily had been gone with the Order, busy saving Mary’s family and sorting out the mess she had caused. James had stayed behind, presumably to make sure she didn’t engage in more treason, but he had spent the whole time in some other part of the cottage, save for sticking his head in once to ask if she wanted a sandwich. She couldn’t remember if she had given him a reply.

“Dumbledore has an old friend who works at Beauxbatons, the French magical school, and she is looking after your family for the time being. They’ll find a nice safe house somewhere in France, and if you still feel the same way after the wedding you can join them there.”

Lily sounded much too kind and compassionate. It wasn’t right, she should be raging at Mary or alerting the MLE and maybe the police to the fact that Mary had sold out her colleagues and friends to the terrorists. She should be rotting away in prison now, she had done something completely unpardonable. She had given the names of every Order member she had ever met, which was most of them, and she had handed over the addresses of Moody, Marlene, Remus and Sirius and Caradoc. She had even tried to get the location of Lily’s and James’s house and it was pure luck they were still able to live here. And even so, Lily had invited her into her home without ill feeling, without judgement, as though she still saw Mary as a friend. But Mary had betrayed her, could not be trusted, should not be allowed into anybody’s home. 

“It’s not your fault, Mary,” Lily told her again. “I couldn’t have fought the Imperius Curse, either. If anything, it’s my fault. I know you, I should have been able to tell that you were being controlled by those toerags.”

It wasn’t like Lily to take the blame for things. She rarely owned up to her own mistakes and Mary was certain it was unprecedented for her to try and take the blame for something that was not her fault. This very much fell into that category. 

Mary wanted to tell Lily that she didn’t understand. Everything was so terribly wrong. She remembered very little of the whole ordeal, but she did remember the handful of times she had been on the verge of regaining control, almost being able to snap out of the terrible curse that had kept her bound. If only she had been a little bit stronger, a little bit cleverer, Mary was certain she would have been able to throw the curse off. Instead she had sold the whole Order out, there had been so much damage done because of her. Moody was still not running full capacity, and she had been told that Fabian, too, was still in recovery. Caradoc’s house was burnt to the ground, and Moody’s was uninhabitable. Marlene and her whole family had had to move, as had Sirius and Remus. And Lily, the most important person to her outside of her family, had been in grave danger. Lily’s parents, too, had been relocated today, as Mary had been to visit Lily when they were younger and she still lived there, and Mary couldn’t remember if she had told this to Lucius Malfoy.

What an awful, awful man. Her blood ran cold as she remembered his superior sneers, the way his lip curled with derision when he told her what he wanted her to do, what questions to ask. He had kept her at arm’s length every time they met, every time he broke into her little Croydon flat, as if he thought she carried a contagious disease. He had never once used her name, only the word “mudblood” and insisted she respond to that name in his company. She had accepted it, even kneeled in front of him when he had gotten carried away and ordered her to do so the last time they had met. It made her feel dead inside. 

“You still don’t remember how they got to you?”

Mary shook her head slowly. She wasn’t sure when she had been cursed, couldn't remember where she had been. She had heard of memory charms and she wondered if she had been forced to forget something. She had no idea what that might be, though.

“Come help me make lunch? James is hopeless in the kitchen, but I much prefer company when I cook.”

It was more command than question, and Mary got up shakily from the sofa and followed Lily through the cottage. It was a lovely building, wooden walls and floors and ceiling, most of the curtains and upholstery a warm red but with some bright blue and purple thrown in unexpectedly. There were paintings and photographs everywhere, muggle and magic, some neatly spaced and others crooked enough in their bold frames to be a bit of an eye-sore. Most of the furniture was old-fashioned and wooden with solid brass fittings, but there were bright modern items, too. There were plenty of showy ornamental pieces competing for the spotlight in each room and all the potted plants looked strong and well-cared for. It was very clearly the home of two people with an equally strong sense of self who could have been bitter rivals, but who had instead decided that even when their tastes were at odds with each other they would try to mix and match and make it work. The envy Mary had felt last autumn sat stiffly at the back of her throat. It didn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m making potato and leek soup,” said Lily, but Mary wasn’t really listening. She stood uncomfortably by the kitchen table and watched as the other witch moved around, chatting and chopping vegetables and bringing pans of liquid to a boil. 

Mary had no idea why Lily had wanted her to live here after all that had happened. Lily must be busy planning the wedding, too, and she had no idea how Lily could be so normal, just going about her day as if nothing had happened. As if Mary hadn’t stabbed her and everyone she cared about in the back.

The reason Mary had refused to contact Magical Law Enforcement to tell them what Malfoy had done to her stemmed from a naïve hope that her older brother might still be alive and that the Death Eaters might release him in exchange of her silence. Robbie had been studying medicine, and although he was a few years older than her they had always been close. The thought that she was responsible for his kidnapping, might be responsible for his death, was more than she could bear. She also doubted she would ever have the energy to go through with a law case. She would be living with a target on her back for the rest of her life as it was. She suspected that the Order quietly supported her decision not to report it as the secret organization wouldn’t benefit from being dragged into a high-profile investigation. 

“I’d really like you to stop blaming yourself for this, Mary,” Lily told her as she chopped the last leek. “You’re as much of a victim as Moody and Marlene and the rest of them are, the Death Eaters used you to commit a crime and nobody can blame you for it. This is why the Imperius Curse is one of the Unforgiveable Curses. It is just as awful as killing or torturing somebody. I’d actually argue that it’s the worst out of the three. Malfoy made you do this, and you have nothing to beat yourself up about.”

Mary shook her head sadly, knowing full well that what Lily said equated to wishful thinking. Fact remained that all of this had happened because of Mary; take her out of the equation and none of these people would have been hurt or lost their homes. Mary would have been able to still look her friends and family in the eye.

“It’s important to me that you’re here for my wedding,” said Lily, changing tactics. “It's supposed to be the best day of your life, and it won't be mine unless you're with me. You were always there for me in Hogwarts, or I’d like to think that we were both there for each other. You’re my best friend, Mary. I hope I’m still yours?”

Mary felt a single tear skid over her cheek, and she gave Lily a small nod. She didn’t deserve this type of declaration, and for Lily’s sake she sincerely hoped they were empty words. Lily deserved better. 

“Something smells delicious,” said James loudly as he entered the kitchen. He gave Mary a quick smile she couldn’t return before he moved over to Lily and buried his nose in her neck. “So good I could eat you.”

Lily lifted his face to hers and Mary looked uncomfortably at the whitewashed floorboards as they kissed, her presence presumably forgotten. Normally, the noises their tongues made and the knowledge of what their mouths fitting together looked like would have disgusted and angered Mary, but now she felt oddly detached from it all. To think that she used to believe that James had been the low point in Lily’s life! She didn’t deserve Lily’s attention anymore, and what was it to her if other people still knew how to love and enjoy one another? 

“Right, I need to purée the soup. James, love, cut some bread will you? And Mary, would you set the table please?”

Mary moved to the closest cupboard and opened it. It contained two complete sets of china; one normal one with poppies and one magical one with gambolling lion cubs on the savannah, so intricate each plate looked like an oil painting. Had Mary had any appetite to speak of she would absolutely have chosen the poppies, but as it was, she didn’t think she’d be able to eat whatever the porcelain looked like. 

“Let’s take the boring ones, Lily thinks the ones my mum gave us are ‘garish’.” James had come up behind her to grab a serving platter for the bread slices, and Mary jumped high into the air from fright. “Pardon,” James said quickly, and the pained expression on his face suggested he was torn between amusement and pity. Mary took his advice and set the table for three with poppy bowls. 

“I’ve invited Dotty and Azalea for the wedding,” Lily told her as she ladled soup into her bowl. James seemed to be buttering bread for all three of them. Mary hated the idea of having to eat bread someone else had been handling, hated that she wouldn’t have any say in how much butter she was going to have to eat, especially after she saw the impressive layer James had put on the slice that he handed to her. She accepted it mutely and caught the worried look he gave her extended thin arm. Mary couldn’t remember the last time she had taken pleasure in eating. 

“What are they even doing nowadays?” asked James when Mary didn’t fill the pause Lily had left after her comment. Mary tried to muster up the strength to look interested. She knew she should be interested in what her old dormmates were up to. They had stopped writing to her after the curse took hold of her and she had been unable to correspond like she used to. She had a vague idea that she had sent each of the girls a reply containing one or two sentences, as clear a sign as any that she didn’t wish to keep the conversation going. Her muggle friends had probably thought the same when she stopped calling them and stopped going to the pub with them.

“Dotty is working in Gladrags. She’s living in Hogsmeade as well, can you imagine living and working so close to Hogwarts, seeing the students and professors all the time?”

“I’d hate it. I reckon Peter would love it, though” said James and the couple shared a grin. Mary tried to force down some soup. It was the least she could do for Lily.

“Azalea is training at the Ministry, I believe it’s in Magical Maintenance. Sounded dead boring, whatever it was.”

“My Mum used to hate the head of the department at Magical Maintenance back when she worked at the Wizengamot. Apparently, the head at the time had strong political views and he would arrange bad weather outside the windows of members and lawmakers whenever they had ruled something he personally disliked.”

“Well, Azalea has always been plenty opinionated, so she should fit right in,” said Lily with a smile in Mary’s direction, trying to share the joke with her. Mary tried to smile back but she found that she couldn’t. She put down her spoon.

“You’re scaring me, Mary, you need to eat. Once you get your strength back I promise you’ll start to feel better.” Lily’s expressive green eyes were too much and Mary had to look away. Her hand was shaking too much now to hold the spoon. She tried the bread instead but found that she couldn’t swallow it. She just chewed and chewed. 

“Can you fix her a calming draught or something?”

Mary lost track of the conversation after that. She thought she was given a potion of some kind, and she remembered Lily hugging her. When she woke up she was in the guest room and the sun was rising on the other side of the house judging by the light. The house was silent and it should have been peaceful. Mary stirred anxiously. There was something dark and warm by her feet and as she sat up in bed there was a comforting ‘meow’ from the thing. Mary had been told that there was a cat in the house, but she couldn’t remember seeing it before, although you might well argue that she hadn’t been present for a lot of her stay. 

The cat got up and walked right into her lap, pushing its small head against her while purring.

“I almost killed your mum and dad,” Mary whispered to the cat. “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to.” The cat stayed in her lap while she cried, and when the room was full of light again Mary found that she had the strength to show the cat some love in return.


	64. You can't get what you want but you can get me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "On Melancholy Hill" by Gorillaz.
> 
> Chapter warning for gay sex and for moral dilemmas.

Never had Gideon thought he would stoop so low. Actually, he had a bad feeling that not even Death Eaters degraded themselves and their victims this much. Having sex with someone just to steal some of their hair for Polyjuice potion, what sort of a morally reprehensive low-life would do that?

Gideon’s hands shook as they advanced on Sirius’s head, which was plastered to Gideon’s groin, so close the man kneeling between his legs formed an alien extension to Gideon’s body. He swallowed, beads of sweat on his brow, then thrust his hands into the elegant black waves and pulled.

“You little shit, I almost bit you. You’re so going to get it.”

Sirius’s stunning light eyes were suddenly fixed on him, glinting evilly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Gideon was consumed by fear, wondering what Sirius would do to him with his body vulnerably exposed like this. Not that he didn’t deserve it. The two or three strands of black hair he had managed to painfully extract by wrapping them around a finger had fallen uselessly onto the mattress and Gideon steeled himself for what was surely to come. 

Sirius’s mouth engulfed him noisily again, and the punishment turned out to be quite different and much more enjoyable to what Gideon’s shattered nerves had told him to expect. 

“How did it go? You look a bit… dishevelled.” 

Gideon blushed and couldn’t meet Benjy’s searching eyes. Benjy’s plan had been for Gideon to invite Sirius over on the pretence of asking him about his recollections of an old Order assignment, give him a cup of tea, spill said tea and in the ensuing commotion pluck a hair from him. Gideon had known as soon as he let Sirius in that the plan Benjy had concocted would never work, would never fool Sirius, and that Sirius thought he was there to help Gideon out with something quite different anyway. Before Gideon had decided what to say Sirius, who had been in his house once before, had dragged him upstairs to his bedroom and pushed him onto his own bed, effectively ridding Gideon of his options. He wondered if Benjy could tell what had happened, and how much he would despise Gideon if he knew. 

Gideon mutely handed his friend the black hairs and Benjy whistled appreciatively at the sight. 

“I think I’m about the same build as Black, so my clothes should do once you’ve transformed. She gets home from work at 5, which means we have time to do it today.”

Gideon took a few deep breaths and wondered if he should speak up. There were so many things that were horribly wrong here besides the moral issues. He wasn’t confident enough to pretend to be Sirius, and Sirius’s cousin must be intimately familiar with how Sirius spoke and how he acted even if they weren’t close friends. He was sure to be found out. Benjy’s clothes were also nothing like the ones Sirius wore. Gideon didn’t care about fashion one bit, but even he had noticed that Sirius had a particular style, and years of watching Benjy meant he knew Benjy’s clothes comprised solely of exquisitely tailored dark robes. 

Benjy threw open the doors to his wardrobe. His tiny one-room flat contained only the things he really needed and valued, and Gideon always felt like he was in the way whenever he visited. This was also the only time he had been here without Fabian.

Fabian was staying at Molly’s while he regrew the liver a nasty Death Eater called Selwyn had expunged from Fabian’s body during the fight in Moody’s house. Both twins had suffered burns as well, but that had been easier to fix and Gideon had been as good as new after a day’s rest. Fabian was still bed-bound, and Gideon was lost without his other half. If Fabian had been here, he would have managed to talk Benjy out of this dangerous secret mission, or at the very least volunteered to do it in Gideon’s stead. The rest of the Order had no idea what Benjy was planning, not even Lily who had given him the Polyjuice potion.

Benjy was now absolutely certain that Sirius’s Death Eater brother was alive and well, and that, to Benjy’s mind, meant that Sirius was somehow in on it. 

Benjy had tailed a wizard called Travers who they suspected of being the owner of _Pure Magic_ and a Death Eater. He had gone through a fireplace in a back room at the Leaky Cauldron one night, shouting ‘Malfoy Manor’ into the green flames, and Benjy had wasted no time in apparating to the same address. He had ended up in the country side somewhere, unable to get close to a huge magical house with an extensive garden. He had, however, been met almost immediately by a teenager sneaking out via the main gate, invisibility cloak ill-advisedly in hand. Benjy had thought it was Sirius at first, but in the light from the first stunning spell he sent that way he had seen that it wasn’t Sirius but Regulus, the younger Black brother. Benjy had even shouted the name at him, and the boy’s panicked eyes had been enough to convince Benjy of his real identity. He had managed to duck away from Benjy’s spells and had disappeared without a trace. 

Benjy had whipped himself into a frenzy as a result of the encounter, he had spoken of little else and with Gideon as his only audience. Moody had been informed, but to Benjy’s dismay he hadn’t agreed that this was proof that Sirius was a traitor, in fact he hadn’t been completely convinced that Benjy had seen Regulus Black and not some other young man. Benjy had been beyond furious when he told Gideon about Moody’s suggestion that it had been Stubby Boardman, the singer for the Hobgoblins, who had been visiting the Malfoys. 

Benjy had also done enough digging to figure out who the woman who had visited Black’s grave was; apparently Bellatrix Lestrange did have a sister who similarly to Sirius had cut ties with the family. It was to this address he was now sending Gideon, and Benjy stubbornly thought he would get the proof he needed from this visit. Gideon was quite certain they would discover nothing of the sort by chatting to Andromeda Tonks, and yet he had still to voice his disagreement. 

“This will do,” said Benjy. He was holding some fine grey linen trousers and a button-down white shirt. They were muggle clothes, but they didn’t look like anything Sirius would wear. Benjy had laid down the clothes on his bed, carefully so as not to wrinkle them. He then walked over to his icebox and got out a bottle with some murky liquid inside. Gideon watched as he more scooped than poured some of the stuff into a shot glass, then put one of the long black hairs inside. Despite everything Gideon walked over, feeling a hint of curiosity as he saw the potion bubble and froth in the little glass. It stopped suddenly, having turned a dark carmine red. 

Benjy stared at the glass as if the colour had somehow displeased him and he didn’t speak as he handed the glass to Gideon. This was it. The last chance for Gideon to speak up and talk sense into Benjy. If he did this and Andromeda Tonks turned out to have a sliver of her older sister in her Gideon might die tonight. At the very least he might be turned over to the ministry for unlawfully impersonating someone.

Benjy’s eyes were gorgeous and there was a steely quality to them tonight. Gideon took the glass and downed it in one. 

His body felt and looked as if it was bubbling and frothing just like the potion itself had. It was rather painful, but it was over very quickly, Gideon’s body going from wild contortions to sudden stillness. 

He was a little taller and a lot slimmer now. There was a different kind of energy in his limbs, something he connected with being a student and running around at Hogwarts. It was also surprisingly easy to move; he had thought that the arrogant grace Sirius carried himself with was part of his childhood indoctrination, but now he wondered if this body wasn't predisposed to posing. He’d have to try to walk with more confidence, though, as what he naturally came with wouldn’t be nearly enough for Sirius. 

“Get those off, we have five minutes if we want to be on the safe side, and then you have 45 minutes to try and talk to her. Better tell her you have an appointment or something so that she knows you won’t be staying long.” 

Gideon got undressed with some embarrassment. He was quite familiar with this body, after all, but it felt wrong to let Benjy see Sirius like this, never mind all the times Sirius had drunkenly gotten semi-naked at parties they had all attended. Benjy was looking on with undisguised curiosity. When the tattoos on Sirius’s arms were revealed he was there like a hawk, muttering about the Dark Mark. Gideon let him take his left hand, shivering at a touch that meant the world to him, and then realizing why the unimpressive runic tattoo had caught Benjy’s attention. It was in the same spot as the Dark Mark was rumoured to be on a Death Eater, and Gideon vaguely remembered Moody telling them that the Mark was a rusty red colour, same as Sirius’s tattoo. Benjy’s touch of the symbols triggered something in the tattoo and suddenly the words “muggle fucker” were visible instead of the runes. There was a pause and then Benjy let go of his arm as if it had burnt him. Gideon didn’t know what to say and so he said nothing at all.

The trousers fit him perfectly, but the shirt was too tight over his shoulders and needed some spellwork. Benjy was unsurprisingly displeased about having to spell it bigger, since using magic on clothes tended to damage the quality. Gideon was able to wear his own shoes. He didn’t think he looked much like Sirius when he stepped in front of the mirror, his expression was all wrong. The hair fell around his face in effortless, smooth waves and he had the same amount of stubble Sirius had had earlier. But his eyes didn’t smoulder the way Gideon had become used to and the haughty and devious smile was nowhere to be seen. Gideon tried smiling, which managed to make Sirius look charmingly bashful, something Gideon was quite sure this face had never once expressed before. 

All too soon Benjy was shooing him out of the flat, telling him he’d have to be quick about it. And so, Gideon set off.

Andromeda Tonks lived in a wizarding village called Chipping Clodbury outside of Bristol. Benjy had been unable to get the exact address, which wasn’t surprising as everyone who could afford it made their houses unplottable these days as it was a first step towards keeping Voldemort supporters out. Gideon had been told which alley she apparated to every day at roughly the same hour when she got home from work. He had only just appeared in the alley with a loud crack when he heard a surprised woman’s voice from some little distance away.

“Sirius! What are you doing here?”

Gideon located the voice and was soon face to face with the woman he had seen some weeks previously in the cemetery. Up close, he vaguely recognized her from Hogwarts as well, although she must be a few years older than him. 

“Andromeda,” he said awkwardly and suddenly he found himself in a tight embrace. She smelt of expensive perfume and she looked immaculate, even Gideon could tell that this was someone who put a lot of effort into her appearance. The robes were of a figure-hugging burgundy silk which she had combined with dainty heels and a muggle hat that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a film star. She was tall and very beautiful, with the same eyes Sirius had and a strong, angular face.

“Nymphadora will be thrilled to see you, it must be a year since you last visited. Where is that famous motorbike of yours? She is trying to get my permission to ride on it with you, and I absolutely forbid you to take her along. She has none of the Black grace and is bound to fall off it as soon as it leaves the ground.”

The woman was scanning his face curiously a she spoke and Gideon tried out a smile for her, doing his utmost to look dashing and confident. 

“Is something the matter?” She opened a hidden gate which they both entered through, moving into a garden that was full of shrubs and small trees of different varieties. The house looked unremarkable but there were lit candles in the closest window. 

“Just have a lot on my mind,” said Gideon and followed her into the house. “Unfortunately I can’t stay long at all, there’s somewhere I need to be at six.”

“Hot date?” she drawled sarcastically and Gideon blushed, which he had a feeling was a very un-Sirius thing to do. He was saved by the appearance of a small girl whose vibrancy and loudness made her seem about ten times larger than she was. 

“Uncle Sirius! I didn’t know you were coming, I would have baked a cake if I’d known! Did you fly here on the motorcycle? I’ve told Mum and Dad I want one for my birthday, but they keep saying they won’t get me one. Can we take a spin on yours instead?”

“Absolutely not, Nymphadora. Your uncle Sirius won’t stay long today, but I think we should invite him to your birthday party.”

“I’d love to come,” said Gideon immediately and smiled at the little girl. She grinned back, then pulled a monkey-like face at him which he had no idea how to respond to. He tried laughing, which came out oddly bark-like, and he quickly followed Andromeda Tonks into a small dining room instead. 

“Well?” she asked as she closed the door behind them, right in front of her daughter who had been attempting to follow them in. There was a light thump and the sound of a child falling over. Andromeda looked exasperated and muttered something about 'regrettable clumsiness'. 

“It’s about Regulus,” Gideon said slowly, he could feel his throat dry up. The woman looked sad all of a sudden, sad and concerned. “Have you heard anything more about him?” Gideon held his breath as he watched her. 

“About his work for those awful Death Eaters, you mean?” she asked him, and suddenly her eyes were hard and unforgiving. “I blame Bellatrix, and I think you should, too. I know you said you’d forgiven him, but if it was my brother I’d be furious. I mean, I _am_ furious, furious about Bella, mostly, but Cissa and Regulus too, and our parents. Regulus didn’t stand a chance, he wasn’t born with your courage or my brains.” Her chin shot up impressively at the last words. “Have you been to his grave?”

Gideon struggled for a reply, he had no idea if the real Sirius was likely to go visit his brother’s grave or not. 

“You’d only go there with a can of muggle spray paint, am I right? Ted told me what the stuff in Knockturn Alley was. I recognized your handwriting, you know. I hope Bella did too, you didn’t exactly mince your words." Gideon smiled uselessly at her. "Kneazle got your tongue?” She looked him up and down with a small frown on her face.

“I heard some odd rumours about his death, that’s all,” said Gideon uncomfortably.

“Yes, so have I,” said Andromeda thoughtfully. “You knew him better than I did, so you’re in a better position than me to say what’s true. Think he got cold feet in the end, tried to run for it? Or do you believe it was suicide?”

Gideon shrugged uncomfortably. Clearly she didn’t think that Regulus Black was still alive.

“You sound so common nowadays, auntie would despair if she could hear you,” Andromeda winked at him and Gideon plastered another smile to his face. “Where are you going dressed like that, anyway? I must say you look nothing like yourself.” She scanned his body with an arrogant frown. “Even when your taste was all gold and glitter you carried it off with some elegance. This get-up looks like it might bore you to death, where’s your sense of fashion gone?”

“I’m meeting some muggles for a job thing,” Gideon invented, heart in his throat. Andromeda smirked at him, but she didn’t try to argue the point and a few awkward minutes later he was back out in the street. He jogged into the secluded alley and disapparated, eager as he was to get away. Benjy would not be happy with what little he had found out, but at least he had not been apprehended.


	65. You're my river running high; run deep, run wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Lykke Li's "I Follow Rivers".

The west coast of Scotland was misty and wet. Spring hadn’t gotten very far yet in the north, but the grass was green and there were fresh spring flowers everywhere, ones that had already withered in southern England. The mountains weren’t as high on the Isle of Skye as they were around Hogwarts, but the landscape was undeniably majestic. The air smelt not just of the rain and the grass, but also of salt and seaweed. 

They had apparated into a clearing in a small wood and James could see a road and a small square of a car park containing a couple of the little muggle vehicles. Beyond the road was a small path that seemed to stretch quite a long way through the craggy landscape, and the small river that presumably turned into the Fairy Pools was zig-zagging through it all. 

James cast an ‘impervius’ on himself while Lily looked on smugly. She was wearing a shiny green muggle coat that could apparently repel any type of bad weather. In fact, she was threatening to buy him one for Christmas, provided they both live that long.

The couple began walking, taking the well-trodden path a wooden sign told them would take them to the Fairy Pools. They had to cross the river twice, and even though Lily almost slipped into it James thought they both enjoyed the hike immensely. They said hello to some muggles in bright coats who were coming back on the same path. It moved upwards and soon they were faced with a magnificent grey and turquoise waterfall in several platforms. There was also the noise of quick feet hitting the wet ground, and as he turned James was set upon by Sirius; Remus panting along behind him. Remus was sensibly dressed in yellow wellies and an overlarge tweed coat. Sirius was unsurprisingly wearing a long dark red leather jacket that looked as if it may have been designed for a woman, and he had combined it with a silk scarf and a flat cap. His eyes were supernaturally pretty in the wet air and James had a sneaking suspicion that Sirius might be dabbling in muggle makeup again.

“Living in the countryside brings out the worst in you, you know,” James told him affectionately, and he thought he heard Remus mutter “sodding city boy” as he greeted Lily with a hug. 

“Has Macdonald topped herself yet?” asked Sirius, and James was certain he knew full well how close to home he had struck.

“She and Freya are taking care of each other today,” said Lily pointedly.

“Traitor,” said Sirius nonchalantly, and though he did add “Freya, I mean,” James didn’t think he’d been referring to the cat at all. 

James turned to admire the Fairy Pools, but Sirius had no intention of leaving him alone and he could tell that his friend was mimicking pushing him in for Remus’s and Lily’s amusement. James, who had concluded that this probably was the entrance to their brand-new Headquarters, got the upper hand by lashing out and grabbing Sirius, who was sufficiently off balance to fall in when James pushed him. He did lose his own balance in the act and ended up plunging in after his best friend. 

It felt a bit like going down the muggle playground slide they had drunkenly abused a few summers ago. It was cold but no water touched James even though he saw his feet hit the surface of the water. Everything was fast and dark for a couple of seconds, and then his feet hit solid ground next to Sirius, who was still laughing from having been pushed.

They were in a small, chamber-like cave with a single torch on the opposite wall lighting up the room. There was a door in front of them, and the ceiling looked like dark water, in fact James could see the sky and some rocks through the distortion. Lily and Remus burst through the ceiling just then, holding hands after apparently jumping in together. 

“This is wicked,” said Lily eagerly, and James was reminded of how easily impressed his fiancé still was by magic. He exchanged a grin with Sirius, who he could tell was thinking the same thing, and led the way to the door. It opened up to a large hall that furniture-wise shared some similarities with Professor McGonagall’s rooms at Hogwarts, although James decided that he mustn’t say that out loud. People might get the wrong idea, or worse it might get back to his old head of house that he, on select occasions, had broken into her private chambers.

The room had stone walls but otherwise did not remotely look as if it was contained within a mountain. It was large and furnished with straight-backed chairs around a large table, with some sofas and desks and a small kitchen area along the walls. Two doors led to what James assumed were toilets. The walls were covered in handwritten notes, photographs of known Death Eaters, wizarding and muggle maps and cut-out newspaper articles. There were robust wooden chandeliers coming down from the ceiling, a ceiling that appeared to be so high it wasn’t visible even though James tried to look for it. 

“Welcome to Headquarters!” It was Hestia Jones, a small, round witch with bright cheeks and sparkling eyes. She clapped James and Lily on their elbows, but James thought he noticed her smile falter as she spotted Sirius and Remus behind them. Sirius definitely saw it and James had to drag him aside to make sure he didn’t spit abuse at her. Sirius's temper could easily command any situation if nobody stopped it. Lily seemed to have noticed what was up and she threw her arm amicably around Remus and together they all took a tour of the room. It felt bigger the further in they walked, and James thought that it would make a good permanent meeting place for the Order. A lot of the things scattered in corners and on tables were items he recognized from Moody’s house, and James wondered if the auror would be living here permanently now that he couldn’t go back to his old place. Soon the room and the chairs around the table started filling up and they sat down, James and Lily flanking Sirius and Remus. Dumbledore arrived last, and James saw him wink at Peter of all people. Peter, who had just slunk down in the chair next to James’s, blushed furiously at the acknowledgement. 

“I’m pleased to welcome you all to Headquarters. This will be our permanent meeting place from now on, and it is protected to the best of my abilities. After the recent attacks on a number of our members it became clear that we could no longer keep meeting in peoples’ homes, and I trust this space will suit our needs for the foreseeable future.”

“What’s to stop present company from divulging our location to the Death Eaters?” interrupted Benjy Fenwick. His face was unusually harsh and he was looking in an obvious manner at either Sirius or Remus as he spoke. James immediately sat up straighter, hand on Sirius’s shoulder, and opened his mouth to retaliate. He could tell that at least Hestia Jones and Emmeline Vance were nodding along to what he had said. 

“I am the only person who can tell anyone of the location of Headquarters,” said Dumbledore evenly. He was peering through his half-moon spectacles at Fenwick. “This place has been put under a form of magical protection called the Fidelius Charm. It is an obscure charm, and no one, not even Voldemort himself, is able to undo it. Every witch and wizard in this room is vouched for by me, and I think we can safely say that last week’s tragic events were the direct result of a successfully cast Imperius Curse. Miss Macdonald has suffered immensely from it and she has asked to leave the Order.”

James stared angrily at Fenwick, who looked pensive but had crossed his arms defensively all the same. 

“Everyone who wishes for further protection for their homes can get in touch with Dedalus,” continued Dumbledore and gestured to the tiny man who was sitting with his top hat in front of him at the table, almost obscured by it, “he has developed some new protective enchantments that he is offering to come round and personally install in your homes.”

James, who still had his hand on Sirius, could feel his muscles tense again. James felt a little confused himself; protective enchantments had been Remus’s job before. Why had Diggle not worked with him on the wards, surely he should have been included in that?

“I will also ask everyone present to start using the safety questions suggested by Alastor when you meet outside of Headquarters. And I really mean everyone when I say this, even those of you who see each other frequently. The Imperius Curse is a horrible threat to our society, and we now have proof that there are Death Eaters capable of casting it well. The security questions aren’t fool-proof, but it is something small we can do to check that our friend and colleagues aren't being controlled by the Death Eaters.”

Peter was twitching anxiously at James’s side and he felt bad for his old friend. This Order business was becoming very dark and Peter was predisposed to worry more than most.

“Alastor, Fabian and Marlene will all be joining us next week, which I’m happy and relieved to announce. In other news we will continue as before. Alice and Alastor are responsible for individual mission schedules which will be conducted in groups of at least three from now. I will repeat that all missions go through Alastor and Alice, as there really is no room for secret, personal missions of any kind.”

Dumbledore’s intense gaze focused first to James’s left, but then he looked at Fenwick and Gideon, who were sitting next to each other. Gideon was bright red in the face and staring at his lap. James stared at him too, wondering what this was about. The meeting finished soon after and James had to hurry after Sirius, who seemed set on cornering Fenwick. 

“What are you playing at, Fenwick? Do you really think I’d work for Voldemort? You’re barking up the wrong tree, and I’m bloody sick of it.” Sirius wasn’t bothering to keep his voice down, and James looked around tiredly to see how many people were listening in. Remus and Gideon were the only people close by, but he thought Hestia and Emmeline had stopped awkwardly on their way to the door and they were probably close enough to hear. 

“You’ve got too many dodgy contacts, Black,” said Fenwick, whose eyes went from Sirius to Remus as he spoke, “and there are too many strange deaths connected to your person. I’ve got nothing specific to accuse you of today, though, so you can rest easy. Dumbledore’s word does count for something in my book.”

Sirius was bristling with pent-up energy next to James, and he put a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“She’s dead because you blabbed,” said Sirius quietly, “and she didn’t deserve it.”

“She?” said Fenwick nastily. “Of course it's difficult to keep track of the people who touch you and die. I’m talking about a man, however. And I really hope that even with your loose morals it’s not someone you’ve stuck your prick in.” 

James gripped Sirius tightly, wondering how Fenwick knew about the Death Eater Sirius had killed. He also couldn’t resist shooting Gideon a quick look. He was bright red again and staring pleadingly at Sirius. If Fenwick didn’t know about those two by now then that face was a dead giveaway. 

Lily came to the rescue as usual and she was leading both Fenwick and Gideon out the door before Sirius managed to spit out whatever was on the tip of his tongue. 

“Does he know, you reckon?” James asked Sirius, and Sirius whirled around furiously to stare at him. 

“I think he was referring to Sirius’s brother, James,” said Lily quietly as she walked back to them. James became uncomfortably aware of Remus’s presence, which he had somehow managed to forget. Sirius was no longer looking at James, either, instead his gaze went worriedly from Remus to Lily. 

“Know what about my brother?”

“There are some rumours about his death, aren’t there?” said Lily carefully. She was looking at Sirius with new eyes, though, as if she was close to solving a puzzle that had been eating away at her. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Sirius heavily. “I'm shattered, not thinking clearly. I almost threw what I’ve been doing with Gideon in Fenwick’s face.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and James could feel questions forming from different directions. He could also tell that Sirius was doing his best to deflect what he could with his face and his body language.

“What happened with the Death Eaters in our flat, Sirius?” said Remus finally. 

Sirius swallowed once or twice, different expressions flitting across his face as if he was trying out different methods of dealing with the question. Then he sighed in the manner of someone admitting defeat. 

“I’ll tell you when we get home.” Sirius dragged Remus towards the exit, and James was left staring at Lily. Lily looked worried, much more worried than he’d like her to look.

“Hey,” he told her quietly, kissing her face and trying to smooth out the wrinkles on her freckly forehead with his mouth and thumbs. “We’re getting married the day after tomorrow.”

At that, Lily burst out laughing and finally kissed him back.


	66. For you maybe I'm a fool but it's fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Easy Living" by Billie Holiday.

“James and Lily first met each other half an hour after James and I did. We were all three of us in the same carriage on the Hogwarts Express, all nervous first years with no friends yet and everything to prove. The meeting between James and Lily went as well as could be expected; that is Lily was in tears and shouting abuse at him from the get-go and James was struck dumb with love from the first word she uttered in his direction. I was able to deduce from the atmosphere in our carriage that something important had happened, although I later wrote it down to some stink pellets James had brought with him, thinking he’d put them into the Sorting Hat as a neat surprise for the child getting sorted after him. These pellets had fallen out of his pockets already on the Express, you see, and the air in our carriage smelt a bit funky after that. I think you’ll agree that I can’t be blamed for not understanding immediately that it was love, especially since I had been told in no uncertain term that love smells of roses. As a much older and slightly more well-informed individual I now know this to be a lie. Love smells like stink pellets, and, funnily enough, like treacle tart. 

I met my best friends at Hogwarts, and I got to know three of them on the very first night. There were just the four of us in a dormitory, four eleven-year-olds from very different backgrounds grouped together at random. It’s a common story, and I know at least half the room will have had the same experience. I’d like to argue, however, that nobody except for me and my mates formed such a strong bond from day one. To me it was never just friendship we had and continue to have. (And as I can hear some of you snickering, I’d like to use this as an opportunity to dispel the longstanding rumour that the reason the four of us are so close is because we started having Tuesday-night orgies starting in fifth year in our dormitory. Contrary to popular belief James has never shagged me, although the offer still stands, of course.) 

Now that we’ve laid that rumour to rest, I want to take you back to the night of the 1st of September 1971. James’s sorting surprised no one. He is brave and chivalrous on a level where I think nobody short of Godric himself could surpass him. The rest of us are more flawed than him. You might rightly note that Remus and Peter both enjoy dressing up in lion costumes when opportunity permits, and that I’m reckless and have a not-so-secret death-wish. But I think literally everybody in the Great Hall, if given a briefing on who we were, would have put Remus in Ravenclaw, Peter in Hufflepuff and myself in Slytherin. Everyone except the Sorting Hat. We were the wildcards, the punchlines of jokes that fell flat, lost boys who may never have found their way home. We had James, though, and as everyone here can understand he is what made all the difference. 

I was acting up that first evening in the dormitory, nervous and maybe a little bit sick with my sudden change of fortune, unable to sleep but trying to pull it off as general excitement. James got out some exploding snap cards and invited me into his bed, where we successfully played and burnt my pyjamas and his pillow. We were so loud we were keeping Remus awake, although he was too polite to tell us to shut up. Peter, though, was asleep until he suddenly wasn’t. I’ve never been the one in our group with the bleeding heart, and so when Peter started whimpering and flailing about, I was quite happy to ignore him and continue with our game (I was winning if I recall correctly). But James got out of the comfort of his bed and went over to Peter and woke him up from his nightmare. 

It was a bad one, and Peter was groggy and scared when he awoke, I don’t think he remembered where he was for a good minute, in a strange room with kids he didn’t know. It was clear to me that this was an opportunity to bully the odd fat kid with nightmares into oblivion, but James had other ideas. He suggested we all go for a wander, explore the castle and see how many ghosts and moving statues and flesh-eating plants we could find. Needless to say, I agreed before the words were out of his mouth, delighted to have found someone with a good head on his shoulders. James woke Remus up as well, although as we discovered he’d only been pretending to sleep. He and Peter took some convincing, but I think both myself and James could see that they were pushovers on the inside, just waiting for a pair of insane leaders to come along and marshal them out to adventure. Peter and Remus shared this look in our dormitory, some deeper understanding neither me nor James has ever quite been able to interpret. Then they both nodded and let themselves be swept away on our first great night of marauding. 

We met a ghost who told us about courtship in the 14th Century that night, and we found a hidden passageway behind a tapestry of some unicorns. We made it all the way up a tall tower that we later found out was the Astronomy Tower, and we looked at the moon and the stars and the deserted grounds and we imagined we could fly. We were chased by a crooked-nosed old witch who moved from portrait to portrait trying to make us go back to bed, until we successfully lost her in a dungeon with no paintings. We dodged several prefects and teachers who were no doubt walking the corridors to check that there weren’t any lost first years out of bed, maybe ones that’d had nightmares and would need a nice potion from the hospital wing, or simply a comforting pat on the back from a grown-up. We had James with us that night, and so we wanted for nothing. 

I had heard stories from older kids about how certain portraits and mirrors and tapestries might lead to hidden rooms and concealed passageways within the castle. During our school years we found more than a hundred of these, some of which we are fairly certain none of our contemporaries or even teachers know of. Perhaps the most important one we found that first night. Peter told us he could smell food when we walked through this one corridor, and Remus’s brilliant orientation skills informed us that we were underneath the Great Hall. That gave me the idea that there might be a kitchen with house elves at Hogwarts, as I come from a haunted house where a nasty little blighter makes the food in the kitchen and then magically sends it up to the dinner table upstairs for the family to eat. James was the one with the sharp eye (don’t let his glasses fool you, they’re merely a fashion statement) who noticed a symbol next to one of the paintings in the corridor. Four boys set upon this specific painting, talking to it, telling jokes to it, pressing into different features of its frame. One of us finally hit upon the idea to tickle the pear in the painting, and that did the trick. We found the kitchen.

House elves come as a close second to man’s best friend, although I have always been, and firmly remain, a dog person (don’t even get me started on the Potter’s cat). James ordered us all treacle tart, which we later found out is his favourite. He could have asked us what our favourite cakes were, but then he wouldn’t be James if he wasn’t convinced that his taste in tarts was superior to everybody else’s. He told us that treacle tart tastes like coming into his mother’s kitchen after a long flight on a broom stick on a hot day in June; one of those days when it rained yesterday but today is sunny and the clouds are a distant past and you have nothing you have to do all day except fly and eat and laugh. I had never experienced such a day myself, but then I had never paid attention to treacle tart before, and so it made sense in a round-about way. Remus and Peter had never flown on a broom stick, and as they told him as much James was horrified that they had never known the greatest delight the world has to offer. So he fed us all treacle tart once the house elves brought it over, and we were forced to agree that James had been right all along. 

We went back to Gryffindor tower after that, using Remus as our compass. We had blown Peter’s nightmares out of the water and I had been given something I had never had before; I felt like I truly belonged. There was no reason to trudge on and carve my path alone when I suddenly had three friends who were headed in the same direction. It was a precious moment, and I believe Remus and Peter felt it too. James, however, had never expected to have to put up a fight or be shunned or left behind. That would never have happened to him and he knew it then as much as he knows it today. His beauty comes not from finding himself, how could it when he’s never been lost? His beauty comes in his strong convictions and in the way that he opened his arms and his mind and his heart to the three of us. He found us that night, picked us up and brought us along and glued us together. We’re still like that.

I have a fourth best friend nowadays, too. She took some getting used to, but because of James’s incapacity in scoring his dream girl I had six years to get used to the idea of her. Lily was always a force to be reckoned with, and she arrived at Hogwarts with a need to prove herself on a level that I think few people do. She’s finely tuned to picking up on injustices and nuances other people ignore or are too thick to see, and she will always stand up for herself and for the silent masses. 

I have no idea what it’s like to be a muggleborn, but I do know a bit about bigotry and how it works. I know the faulty reasoning that is stacked behind it, and I know how easy it is to get stuck in it. She has had to fight some very deep-rooted injustices throughout her school career, and she has come out on top at every instance, not just because she is right but because she has the strength to stand up and tell the world she is right. It took me years to see that, but it took James less than a week.

The first time he told Lily he loved her he threw a stink pellet into her cauldron. 

We were brewing forgetfulness potion, and Lily was doing better than me and James. I should preface this by pointing out that generally, myself and James were the best at everything. Neither of us are humble, and both of us like to brag, but we were better than everyone in school. This surprised neither of us. We’d both grown up around magic and been encouraged to try out spells long before we got to Hogwarts, and I had been forced to sit through ridiculous private lessons on various subjects as well, but that’s a story for another time. I had also come to school believing that, as a supposed pureblood, my magic would be superior to everyone else’s. James wasted no time in telling me how fucked up I was for believing that, but some beliefs take time to flush out of the system completely. Anyway, I digress.

Lily was better than both of us at potions. She was already proving herself to be a decent student of every subject at Hogwarts even though she came from a non-magical background. This played tricks on my mind, but what bothered James was that he didn’t know how to prove himself worthy of her unless he was better than her at everything. That’s what his 11-year-old-self told me, and I laughed in his face much like the lot of you are doing now. I know, I reckon we can all think of more things Lily’s better at than James now, but bear in mind we were all 11 and stupid back then. 

Her forgetfulness potion was the perfect, non-descript colour that our potions book told us it was supposed to be, while my potion was a murky green and James’s was a bit brown. It was out of order, and we weren’t having it. It was my suggestion to toss something into her cauldron, although I may have made lewder references than this at the time. We were 11. James had a rifle through his pockets, and he came up with a stink pellet. I caused a commotion by loudly and, I’ll admit unfairly, asking Slughorn if the rumours about what he did with his students in the Slug Club were true. That got everybody’s attention, including Slughorn’s. James was simply supposed to sneak up behind Lily and toss the pellet into the cauldron. He did, but the little creep couldn’t resist whispering ‘I love you’ in her ear as he did. She punched him, of course, and then the cauldron exploded.

Few of the students who were present remember anything that happened after that. Most of us woke up in the hospital wing a few hours later. We were all smelling of stink pellets and we had to be given potions to counter the headaches and the memory loss. Lily was given 10 points to Gryffindor for creating a perfect potion. She had also ratted James out, told Slughorn exactly what had happened. She had heard us discussing how she couldn’t possibly be allowed to be better than us, and she’d seen red. James and I were told we were expected for our very first detention that evening. I think we were forced to clean the potions classroom; it was in a bit of a state. James was quiet at first, but then he told me that Lily had been right and that we had been wrong. I was shocked to say the least, but fortunately James just concluded that we’d have to use better reasoning behind the next prank. I could get on board with that. James hadn’t forgotten about his new-found love for Lily Evans, either, he was soon waxing poetic to me and to Remus and to Peter, and we listened and nodded and scratched our heads, thinking he was having us on at first. We later realized he wasn’t.

Most of the detentions I’ve served have, in some way, been related to Lily Evans. James was born to be a show-off, but the child falling hopelessly in love turned him into a monster. I’ve always had a soft spot for monsters, which is why I followed him blindly and egged him on whenever he was close to repenting or regretting our latest shout for attention. I jest, of course he didn’t actually turn into a monster, and most of our pranks were a collaboration between exactly four people. It would be unfair to suggest that the Marauders would have been anything less had Lily Evans not existed, but I think that some of our greatest strokes of genius, like turning all students ginger for a day, or throwing a birthday bash for the giant squid every year once James found out it’s Lily’s favourite animal, would not have happened without her unconscious input. The most outrageous things we did were usually designed to draw Lily’s attention to James, and these were the ones we were usually caught for.

On that note I would like to apologize to Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn, both of whom I believe are with us today. You see, it was because of James’s love for Lily that the two of you ended up locked into the broom cupboard on the fifth floor together with the sneakoscope and all that mistletoe. I had charmed the sneakoscope to light up in blue and red and to sound like ABBA rather than to whistle and scream. Remus had let slip to James when Lily would be patrolling that corridor in her capacity as prefect, and he was set on luring her into the broom cupboard with him as an early Christmas present. As we now know, the sneakoscope went off before it was supposed to, before Lily was anywhere near the broom cupboard and unfortunately also when neither James nor I were close by. The charm we had put on the cupboard door would only let two people enter, after that it would stay locked for half an hour no matter what. James and I heard a scream from the cupboard mingling with the sultry tones of Agnetha and Anni-Frid, and when we rushed out, we were able to spot Professor Slughorn rushing valiantly to the rescue, wrenching the door open and being sucked in by the charm of our design. The door then clenched shut, but not before we saw that Professor McGonagall was the first occupant of the broom cupboard. They both shouted some more, then set about undoing the charms we had put up. At this point Lily did arrive on the scene, and she was able to help them undo our charms. Needless to say, James and I did not stay to watch as even James deemed that this might not be a night of romance, after all.

The night of romance happened in seventh year. There had been plenty of water under the bridge by then, from Lily’s point of view anyway. She no longer despised him and he, of course, had never stopped loving her even though his attempts at getting her had become less frantic the older he got. They were Headgirl and Headboy together, an honour I still say was the result of the greatest prank ever pulled at Hogwarts. Headmaster Dumbledore in his wisdom and his sense of humour has a lot to answer for in regards to the wedding today. Lily and James got to play at running the school together, both at the height of their powers, and in a move that surprised everyone Lily decided to give James a chance. They got to know each other for real, this time, and one night Lily deigned to spend time with all four of us, playing exploding snap and helping Peter with his Transfiguration essay. At some point she let slip that she was feeling peckish, and James wasted no time in asking her if she’d like to have some treacle tart with him. 

They got back from the kitchen an hour later, both with well-kissed lips and treacle tart crumbs all over their hands. James wouldn’t stop smiling that night, and Lily kept sneaking fond looks at him whenever she thought nobody was looking. 

As I say, I had time to get used to the idea of her. She turned out to be much more than the dream girl James had created in those delightfully disturbed recesses of his mind. She wasn’t at all like the vague threat that could break our foursome apart that I had created in my head. She was fully capable of being one of us from the second she saw fit to stoop to our level, and consequently she has also had the power to occasionally lift the four of us to a higher place when we have most needed it. We all owe her a thank you today, for putting up with us and for leading the way, together with James, to fight the good fight.

I’d like to raise my glass to the happy couple! To James and Lily!”


	67. Despite it all you made it worse; it left you lonely, it left you cursed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Your Love Alone Is Not Enough" by Manic Street Preachers and Nina Persson.

Peter shed a tear or two during the ceremony. James did too, so it was alright. They wore muggle suits for the occasion and James looked surprisingly comfortable in his. Lily’s dress was big and sparkly and had been her mother’s. She seemed to glow all by herself and Peter was surprised that the muggles present couldn’t tell simply from the way she was that she was magic.

James looked just as handsome as he had when he’d won them the quidditch cup last year, which, in Peter’s humble opinion, was saying something. Lily was radiant and smiled her way through the ceremony, occasionally waving or winking at different people in the audience. Peter got a wave as well. The ceremony was short but not short enough for Peter to really listen to what was being sad. It took plenty of effort to hide a runaway tear or two from Sirius or any other likely piss-takers, and to sneak glimpses at the other guests. 

Azalea and Dotty who had been fellow Gryffindors in their year were there, whispering and giggling in each other’s ears like they always did in school. Everyone who had been on the Gryffindor quidditch team together with James was there, some of them were still in school and others had graduated several years ago. Corintha Shacklebolt had been reserve keeper and was now the keeper for Puddlemere United. Peter spotted Ferdinand Ogden, once a talented beater and now working in the post office in Diagon, and Lettie Stebbins who’d been the worst seeker Gryffindor had ever had but who was now a new mother. Professor McGonagall was there in a red dress edged with tartan. Professor Slughorn was wearing a dangerously tight purple velvet waistcoat and he looked so happy you could have been fooled into thinking it was his wedding day. Several Order members were there, Moody looked strange in a smart muggle suit and Frank and Alice Longbottom were snuggled up on a pew in the back of the church. Dumbledore was wearing a ridiculous powder blue suit with flared legs and plenty of gold embroidery. Marlene and Mary were dressed in matching heavenly blue dresses; Mary pale as a ghost and Marlene with a healthy tan that she had not gotten in Britain. Sirius had brought an Italian muggle girl to the party, a leggy brunette with watchful and haughty eyes. Peter even spotted Aberforth Dumbledore, Lydia Quail and Madam Rosmerta, who it appeared had come together from Hogsmeade. 

The main reason Peter kept his eye on the guests was to see if any of them noticed that he had a woman by his side. Little insignificant Peter had done well for himself, had gotten a hot older girlfriend on his merits alone. No Lily setting him up with one of her friends while James cheered him on, no begging for Sirius’s castoffs and no well-meant words of wisdom from Remus, whose experiences with the fairer sex surely were negligible. Peter had met her all on his own and their relationship looked to be a great success. 

Strangely, the only person who seemed to have noticed Peter’s girlfriend was Sirius’s Italian shag. Peter caught her staring for several seconds, and after that she gazed straight at Peter with more worry than Peter felt the situation should ever have merited. His girlfriend was a little older than him, certainly, but Peter didn’t think it showed much. And she did have bright purple hair, but surely Italians knew about hair dye? 

The ceremony ended with a fabulous kiss from the newlyweds and everyone trooped off to the party venue.

Peter immediately got roped into a discussion with Frederick Ogden, who seemed quite envious of Peter’s job at Quality Quidditch Supplies. They were soon joined by both Dotty and Azalea and two men Peter had never seen before but who turned out to be bona fide muggles Lily had gone to school with before Hogwarts. They acted endearingly drunk from the potion they had been given to keep from noticing magic and didn’t seem to mind when Azalea told them all about her work at Magical Maintenance nor when Peter described the finer technical features of the new Nimbus broom that would soon be on the market.

When Peter turned to grab another flute of champagne, he caught sight of the Italian girl whispering into Sirius’s ear and just when Sirius turned to look at Peter and his girlfriend and the group they were with, Peter turned his back to Sirius. He was feeling rather smug, this was the moment when Sirius would spot him and his companion and see that Peter, too, knew how to woo the ladies.

But Sirius didn’t come up and ask to be introduced and besides Peter soon found himself tête-à-tête with the bride while they both downed more drinks. Peter found himself smiling from ear to ear in Lily’s presence, there was something infectious about her that day. She told him that they had made sure to only use flowers that wouldn’t trigger Peter’s allergies, which made his heart swell from the over-the-top consideration his friends had shown him. The church hall was filled with flowers, all red and white with plenty of gold ribbons tying them together like muggles would to keep their decorations on the walls and in the air. It was possible that the church hall hadn’t been very pretty before the decorations had come up, but nobody could say it didn’t look festive now.

It was still a surprisingly laid-back affair, and Peter thought that all guests looked as if they were genuinely enjoying themselves. The muggles were all dressed to the nines in sheer summer colours and the witches and wizards had tried their best to blend in with the muggles. From his limited experience Peter thought that most had done a decent job, although some of the wizards were wearing robes rather than suits. There were tables for people to both sit and stand by, the food was laid up around one wall and the dancefloor was edged with seas of flowers. The food didn’t follow any theme in particular; Peter had filled his plate with spring rolls and curry and roast potatoes, Lily and James seemed to have gone for their favourite foods rather than bother to work out a cohesive theme. For dessert there was a creamy wedding cake topped with marzipan swans whose necks formed a delicate heart, and treacle tart and pumpkin-flavoured ice cream. The band was made up of pimply muggle youths in emerald green glittery jackets and polyester trousers and they were taking any and all requests from the audience. Peter did hear them play tentative renditions of B-sides from “Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars” whenever the Hobgoblins were requested. Peter supposed that the Hobgoblins weren’t played much on muggle radio. 

Dumbledore had left soon after the ceremony but McGonagall and Slughorn were both still there. Peter found himself seated with them and James’s dad at a table that was covered in empty glasses. He was moderately sure he had emptied a fair few of them himself, but the whisky glasses had not been his and the others were all pink-cheeked and rather loud. 

“The Headmaster told me you’ve become quite the salesman since graduation,” McGonagall said, and Peter thought he could trace a rare note of pride somewhere in there. 

“I’ve been selling broomsticks,” Peter explained eagerly and slopped something sticky from his glass onto his hand, “business is doing quite well, too.”

“I remember that the owner of Quality Quidditch Supplies came to my little suppers once or twice, although I’m afraid he could have built an even bigger shop for himself if he’d taken my advice at an earlier stage… I tried to introduce him to the captain of the English quidditch team, you know, old student of mine, and your man might easily have outfitted them. What’s his name?” Slughorn’s eyes were unfocused and he was frowning at Peter as though he wasn’t sure quite who he was, either. “But you –“ Slughorn pointed a thick but well-manicured finger in the general direction of James’s dad. Fleamont had raised his whisky glass above his face and was looking at the contents with undisguised fascination. “- You invented _Sleekeazy’s_!” 

“Mhmm,” agreed Fleamont without looking at Slughorn.

“You must have made a fortune when you sold the company, eh Mr Potter?”

“Euphemia helped me, I’m not very fond of monetary transactions.” James’s father kept swirling the contents of the glass and Peter met Professor McGonagall’s amused eyes over the table. Slughorn seemed to be struggling with how to proceed. 

“You came to a few of my gatherings, too, I was just getting started at Hogwarts back then, wasn’t I? I must say I always knew you would succeed in life.”

“Does your son ever use your hair potion?” McGonagall asked with a hint of a smile. 

“James? The boy doesn’t have much hair, does he? Or maybe he does?” Fleamont looked vaguely confused but he didn’t stop playing with his whisky glass. Peter laughed a little into his own glass. He had met Fleamont on several occasions but this was a new low, even for him.

“He never did take an interest in my little club, never did know why. Now miss Evans, on the other hand, pardon me, Potter now of course, now she… What was I saying? Ah yes, as a fellow potioneer I’m sure you keep all manner of interesting ingredients at home?” Slughorn asked next, fighting valiantly against the prevailing bewilderment. 

“Euphemia says I need to get rid of some of them, might blow the house up,” agreed Fleamont.

“Speaking of the famous hair, I think your friends are looking for you,” McGonagall told Peter. He followed her gaze and was met with the sight of James and Remus, both of whom appeared to be staring at him. They had lost their jackets and were looking a little dishevelled and James’s hair was a right mess as usual. Peter excused himself and bounced off towards his friends.

“I was going to introduce you to Beula,” Peter said and looked around for a glimpse of purple hair, “my new girlfriend, you know.” He didn’t bother to disguise how proud that sentence made him. Proud and a little bit complacent. They still didn’t know, of course, but then they hadn’t asked him. If they had they would have known what an amazing development there had been in his life. It still stung that they hadn’t asked, if he was honest with himself, but at least they must feel pretty silly now.

Remus and James were both staring at him with unreadable expressions, at least Remus was. James looked curiously unhappy considering what day it was. 

“Your girlfriend has been making up stories about James and Lily and Sirius and writing pro-Death Eater propaganda in _Pure Magic_ ,” said Remus quietly. 

“That’s not true,” Peter denied quickly, and he shook his head for extra emphasis. “She just works for that publication, but she’s nothing to do with any of the bad stuff.” Peter felt confident about this as Beula had told him as much. 

“Beula Skeeter is the sister of Rita Skeeter, isn’t she? But while Rita just writes rubbish for the _Prophet_ , her sister is actually cooperating directly with the Death Eaters.” 

“She didn’t sell anything to the Death Eaters”, Peter argued and he hoped the others noted the rare note of coldness he let creep into his voice. He rarely needed to put them in place, but these were accusations not even his best friends were allowed to fling about. “You’ve got it all wrong. She told me she hasn’t had anything to do with any of them, and besides we’ve agreed not to talk too much about work when we’re together. And so what if she ran some stories about public figures in the paper, that’s what publications like that are for!”

“You can’t be serious?”

Peter stared from James to Remus in shock. What were they on about? So what if the magazine Beula worked for had written some stories that showed Order members in a negative light? James had a right to be peeved about some of the things in the paper, but the _Prophet_ had written about him and his connections to the Order, too. And everyone knew what the papers were like, they were printed to sell as many copies as possible, it wasn’t anything personal, not really. 

“ _Pure Magic_ has written stories on how to torture and kill werewolves! It’s owned by a Death Eater and the people who work anonymously for it are all thought to be either Death Eaters or at least hardcore sympathisers. And you’re dating one!? That makes you a Death Eater informant, Peter!”

“I think you haven’t quite grasped all the facts,” Peter interrupted, almost pitying them, “Beula didn’t get anything classified from me, what they got was given to Death Eaters by Mary Macdonald. I know we all feel sorry for her after this terrible ordeal, but she’s the one who was responsible for the leaks to the Death Eaters. Beula never asked about anything related to the Order, and I don’t think she’s written much about the Order, anyway. There are several other journalists at _Pure Magic_ , so if you have any grievances you should take it up with them. Beula isn’t a Death Eater sympathiser, she doesn’t care about things like politics.”

“How can you be this stupid?” Remus said. Peter felt as if he’d been hit in the stomach by a bludger. Had his best friend just called him stupid? His eyes and nose felt wet, as if he was being assaulted by his allergies despite the assurance that they had exclusively used flowers that didn’t trigger his hay fever. 

“Do you remember the first time the Death Eaters got information that was leaked from the Order?” James asked him quietly. “It was when you and Marlene were spying outside of the Malfoy’s place, and it was before the Death Eaters cursed Mary. She wasn’t in the Order when that happened, she asked to re-join on their orders. You and Marlene were both there and the Death Eaters knew, you said so yourself at the time that someone had leaked information. Now you know who.”

“That’s not true,” Peter said harshly. James’s eyes were desperate, and Remus looked just as hurt as Peter felt. “I’d like you to meet her, that way we can put these suspicions behind us,” Peter said finally. His breathing was coming in weird gasps, the near-panic was building somewhere around the region of his heart.

“I’ve modified her memories from today and sent her home, Peter. I can’t have someone like that here on my wedding day.”

James met his shocked gaze with determination and undisguised disappointment. Peter sniffed and tried to regain control of his breathing. He was barely aware of how he was twisting his hands together. He was angry, but not nearly as angry as he thought he should be. He felt strangely guilty and close to heartbroken. Nothing made sense.

“I can’t deal with this now. We’ll talk later, Peter.”

With that dismissal Peter watched his two best friends turn their backs on him and walk back into the throng of merry wedding guests. Remus put his hand on James’s shoulder and patted it consolingly a few times. Peter’s heart tore and tore.


	68. Don't feel like Satan but I am to them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Neil Young's "Rockin' in the Free World".

Regulus had breasts again. This time around he’d been allowed to give more input on what he wanted to wear; he shuddered to think what sort of revealing muggle get-up Sirius would have chosen had he had his way. Sirius had a good eye for colours, Regulus could give him that, but his taste in cuts and fabrics and skirt length was outrageous. 

He had long dark hair Sirius had braided for him and fierce brown eyes that had required very little makeup. This body wasn’t as dangerously curvaceous as Ruth’s had been, but he was still being stared at a lot by men and it was rather uncomfortable. Sirius had insisted he come along in case of the Death Eaters targeting the wedding party, and Lupin had sided with Sirius this time. Regulus wished he hadn’t; he could have done with another day of combing through Malfoy Manor. 

Last week he’d gone to a muggle shop underneath the invisibility cloak with Sirius and had chosen a yellow-ochre coloured dress. It had long sleeves, which was a must as Regulus’s Dark Mark wasn’t fooled by Polyjuice. The sleeves were tight and felt uncomfortable on Regulus as he was used to the wider sleeves wizarding robes offered. Then again, what with tits and hips and balancing on some odd dainty sandals, tight sleeves were really the least of his worries. 

He was called Giorgia and he wasn’t supposed to be good at English. Regulus was mostly fluent in French and Latin and he was consequently able to read Italian. That wasn’t a huge help, but they were counting on none of the wedding guests speaking Italian. 

He was also supposed to be a muggle. The horror of it all.

The wedding locale was muggle as well, located in some distant suburb of Manchester he hadn’t caught the name of. Apparently, it was where Evans hailed from. The ceremony had started in a small, modern church and then moved into a nearby building that had very clearly been decorated with magic. At least Regulus thought it was obvious. All of the muggles had been given a handmade slice of fudge on exiting the church, which Sirius had told him contained a mild befuddlement concoction. Regulus had been given one too, of course, and he had to pretend to eat it. Lupin was in charge on keeping an eye on the muggle guests to make sure they had further doses if they looked as if they were noticing too much magic.

There had been one good thing about coming to the wedding. Regulus had spotted a familiar lurid shade of purple hair in the church, and once the party continued with food and drink and dancing and an embarrassingly emotional speech by Sirius, Regulus was able to see that it was indeed the witch he’d thought it was. He even knew her name; Beula Skeeter. She was a slippery customer even by Slytherin standards, but he had seen her hand in a report personally to Lucius Malfoy once, and he knew that Abraxas Malfoy’s old friend Travers was the founder of _Pure Magic_. Regulus was good at putting two and two together, and since questionable ethics and journalism ran in the Skeeter family, he was fairly certain that she worked for the magazine. 

This might not have been a problem for his brother and his friends, but apparently Beula Skeeter had come with Peter Pettigrew of all people, and it didn’t take a genius to guess that one of Sirius’s best mates was being used as an informant, probably without his knowledge. Lupin had been there when Regulus informed Sirius, and he had begged Sirius to leave it to him and to Potter to deal with. To Regulus’s surprise Sirius had given in after a short and intense staring-contest with Lupin. Sirius had been all but fuming from the ears and Regulus had expected Sirius to go beat up both Skeeter and Pettigrew the moment he told them. But Sirius had found some rarely used reins to leash his temper with and Lupin had come back soon enough and told them both that it had been dealt with. He’d had a longer discussion with Sirius about whatever this dealing with had entailed, but a wedding wasn’t really the venue to air the type of feelings they both seemed to be struggling with and Regulus had been able to observe both his brother and Lupin get steadily drunker as the night progressed. Regulus was limiting his own drinking severely and was only allowing himself a glass every hour with his Polyjuice for fear of drunkenly losing focus and giving himself away. 

So far, nobody had shown him much interest. The worst came when he was almost dragged into a conversation about the atrocities of being a United fan and how Man City was the only real way of life by some young muggle men who had eyed him a little bit too appreciatively, but Regulus had, in broken English, told them who his supposed date was and managed to point him out to them. Sirius was quite a big man and as he had held the best man’s speech the young men deemed him threatening enough. It felt odd to bate suitors off by saying he was taken rather than by saying he wasn’t interested, but he thought it was probably safer this way. He had no idea about muggle sport, although the impression given by the young men was that this was just as important to them as the quidditch league was to Regulus. He might ask Lupin about it later.

The first dance had been surprisingly moving, even to Regulus. It was clear that neither of the newlyweds were brilliant dancers, they mostly just swayed on the spot, but there was something inordinately intimate and sweet about the way they couldn’t tear their eyes from each other. 

Regulus spotted Potter’s parents more embracing than dancing on the dancefloor. They were both grey and wrinkled and one of them had an elegant cane in hand. They looked so happy, though, as they slowly revolved on the spot in each other’s arms, so grateful and content with themselves and each other. They were the people who had taken care of Sirius when he was at his most volatile and stupid and they were the people who had produced Potter. Regulus wondered if they were the reason why Potter always looked so happy and carefree, why he seemed to believe so blindly in love and in his friends and in the woman in his arms. Regulus wasn’t an envious sort, but sometimes he did wonder what it would be like to be pleased with the life you'd led.

Regulus dared another glass of sparkling wine and grabbed a roll of bread from the table. He was too stressed today to be hungry, but he should at least try to eat something. Then he took a stroll through the room, careful not to meet anyone’s eye in case they’d try to talk to him. He caught snatches of some of the dozens of different conversations going on in the room.

“Dorcas should’ve been here, not me,” he heard one of Lily’s bridesmaids say to Lupin, who was looking worried and sympathetic. Lupin was really much too patient for his own good.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a handsome couple; Lily has really grown into herself and this mysterious young man seems most suitable. He has a lot of funny friends, though, hasn’t he?”

Regulus swerved around some elderly muggle ladies in their Sunday best and came upon Madam Rosmerta who was talking to one of the Hogsmeade shopkeepers. 

“That speech was certainly enlightening, just imagine what it would have been like to be a teacher at the school with those four boys in the same house…”

“I can’t tell you the amount of times I had James and Sirius in my pub, trying to flirt with me and telling me jokes they’d made up or trying to convince me to sell them spirits… Once, would you believe, they broke in during the night and I found all four of them sleeping in a bundle of limbs on top of one of my tables. They can’t have been more than thirteen…”

Regulus put down his empty glass on a table close to the band, who were playing something upbeat and muggle Regulus didn’t recognize.

“You’re Sirius’s date? Let’s dance.” Regulus didn’t have time to raise his head to meet the woman’s eyes before he was being dragged onto the dancefloor. She twirled him expertly and suddenly he had her arms slung loosely around his neck, her face inches from his. She was grinning mischievously but although he was too shy to look into her eyes, he found his hands seek out her hips as they navigated the dancefloor. Her dress was bluer than a summer sky and she was one of the few guests with a tan, a tan she must have gotten either by magic or overseas. Her long blonde hair looked sun-bleached and her smile dazzled him.

He was in shock to say the least. He certainly wasn’t used to strangers dragging him off and putting their hands on him and impudently breathing the same air as he. It all felt like a distinctly Sirius-thing to do. Most of his shock stemmed from recognizing her, though. It was Marlene McKinnon, the girl Regulus had had an ill-advised crush on throughout his schoolyears. This was also the gorgeous girl his brother had dated when he was younger. To be fair, his own amorous feelings for her were probably partly a result of walking in on them in Sirius’s bed during the summer holidays. She had been stunning then and she was stunning now. He’d seen a photo of her in his brother’s flat and deduced that they were still friends, but what on earth could she want with Sirius’s Italian muggle acquaintance?

“You’re a rare bird, aren’t you? Sirius doesn’t date much, but I heard about you months ago already. He must really fancy you to bring you along to James’s wedding?” She was smiling easily at him as she spoke, clearly curious.

“I do not think so, I’m going back to Italia soon,” Regulus tried, butchering one accent or other. Her proximity was having an intoxicating effect on him, and although his private bits were all wrong he was recognizing the feeling there as arousal. How mortifying.

“You’re not going steady, then?” Marlene asked. Her breath smelt of sweets and alcohol and her long, feline mouth was curled, luring out the dimples in her cheeks. Regulus was definitely turned on. 

He shook his head and let her twirl him around again. Mid-spin, he spotted his brother. Sirius had a glass in his hand and his face had split into a grin as he watched them. He realized Marlene was aware of this too, not least since she sent his brother a flirtatious smile over Regulus’s shoulder. Her hands didn’t go back around his neck, instead they began stroking his trim waist in a way that wasn’t completely innocent. 

“Should we get him all worked up for you? I bet he’ll eat you out in the toilets if you let him.”

Regulus felt his face flush and suddenly Marlene’s cold nose tip nudged his hot one. She stopped moving and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Then she giggled excitedly and tried to spin them both into action on the dancefloor once more. Regulus felt as if somebody had hit him with a stunning spell, but luckily dancing was something he could manage on autopilot. He sent his brother a worried look. Sirius was grinning madly as if he’d just pulled off a spectacular prank. Marlene’s hands danced over his arms and Regulus flinched reflexively as she touched his left inner arm. 

“You are a good dancer; I’ll give you that.” Regulus looked into her eyes for the first time. Marlene’s eyes were hypnotically blue but there was something underneath the playfulness now that sent shivers down his spine. “Sirius is a decent dancer too, though, so that doesn’t surprise me. Follow me.” 

Regulus tried not to stare at the swinging hips and shapely behind as he followed her. She had a fast grip on his hand and didn’t loosen it as she led him through a doorway to a small room full of bottles and extra food. Lily Potter was there, too, in her big white dress. She was giving Marlene a questioning look and idly toying with her wand. Regulus, who could only see the back of Marlene’s untidy blonde curls could tell that she was nodding.

Regulus let go of Marlene's hand and raised his own slowly over his head. He felt oddly calm although he was fairly certain he had been found out. 

“Show us your left arm. Peel up the sleeve.” Lily’s eyes glinted a strong green as they bored into Regulus and she was pointing her wand at him with a steady hand. Marlene had her wand in hand too, now, and her eyes were mere slits and completely disgusted. That hurt Regulus more than he could say. 

Regulus lowered his arms slowly and moved the right one towards his left sleeve.

“I’ve switched sides, ask Sirius or Lupin,” he said quietly as he bunched the tight sleeve up towards his elbow. His voice was still female, but he spoke with his normal accent. It sounded jarring.

As the ugly maroon tattoo of a skull and snake was revealed on his unfamiliarly slender arm Sirius burst through the door with his wand raised and a hunted look on his face.


	69. We don't know just where our bones will rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "1979" by the Smashing Pumpkins.

“Let me get this straight,” Lily began as she tried to bring a modicum of good sense to the proceedings. She pointed at Sirius first, as it was usually a safe bet to blame Sirius for things that were spiralling out of control. “Your formerly Death Eater little brother – who, I might add, is currently changing out of his elegant muggle dress – defected months ago, faked his death with your help, and has been living secretly with you ever since?”

“In my bedroom as well. Bloody difficult to get an early morning wank in when your little brother is snoring next to you.” Sirius was spread out on the mostly ruined sofa in the Shrieking Shack with Marlene half-way into his lap and one of the two Firewhisky bottles currently in circulation in his fist. 

“That does sound challenging,” Lily conceded, making a mental note to lay off the incest jokes for the time being. She took the other bottle out of her husband’s hands; she had parked herself next to him although the dress she was wearing meant that she was taking up most of the second sofa in the room. She had an invigorating gulp before she handed it back to James. She pointed her finger at Sirius again, trying to marshal her thoughts into words. The next part was difficult.

“Voldemort has hidden something you call horcruxes and as long as they remain undamaged he is immortal.”

Lily faltered and looked from Sirius to Remus and then back again. Nobody shouted “got you!”. 

“You’ve got two of these things, and you got them, respectively, by drinking a potion designed to kill its drinker from thirst and by fighting inferi, and the other by impersonating a since deceased woman, stealing my Polyjuice and breaking into a vault in Gringotts.”

There were no contradictions forthcoming, but Remus started digging around inside a cracked vase he was sitting next to on the floor. He got out a packet of something herb-like and some cigarette papers.

“Your plans now include stealing basilisk venom and breaking into rich Death Eater’s houses in the search for the third object.”

“Hopefully just Malfoy Manor,” Sirius interjected. Marlene dragged his hand with the bottle towards her face, which was leaning on his chest, and he got the point and tipped the bottle carefully against her mouth. 

“I could’ve been on my honeymoon right now,” James told the room miserably.

Lily trained her index finger on him instead. 

“And you!” she began, but her voice faltered at the enormity of what had happened. James leant in and kissed the tip of her finger. His eyes were mournful and so very hurt. 

“And Peter has done stupid shit behind our backs without realizing it and because he’s not the fastest thinker it’ll take him a day or two to sort out what he’s done in his own head,” James summarized in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. 

“And then you’ll forgive him?”

“And then we’ll forgive him,” James agreed.

Lily tried to measure the love in her husband’s eyes and she thought it trumped the hurt. Then she realized he was eyeing Remus and Sirius. Remus had lit up his spliff and was sitting with his eyes closed, still as a statue, slowly breathing out smoke through his nostrils. Sirius was staring at James and seemed to be thrumming with rage and need. Lily thought it might be a need for vengeance but she hoped she was wrong. 

There was a careful clearing of a throat behind them and they all turned to see Sirius’s brother, now in black robes, standing nervously by the door. Nobody spoke.

Lily sighed a little and then struggled for purchase. She didn’t want to get up from the sofa, but sometimes you had to do the things you didn’t want to do. She finally got to her feet and walked over to Regulus, formerly white layers of dress trailing on the filthy old floorboards.

“Lily,” she said as she stuck her hand out. She sensed more than heard a collective intake of breath behind her, as if the others were expecting something bad to happen from such a simple gesture. Regulus stared into her eyes perhaps a second too long, searching for who knew what, and then he bowed his head as he took her hand, to her great surprise he brought it to his lips and kissed it. 

“Regulus,” he said as he had righted himself and she fought the urge to laugh at the pomposity of it. Clearly this meant something different to him.

“There might be a bit of room on the sofa for you, but this dress is a monster so I’m obligated to warn you that it will get cramped,” Lily told him as she shuffled back to her sofa.

“There’s room here, too, I don’t mind sitting in a Black sandwich,” Marlene piped up as she drew her legs to her body to free up space on the end. 

“Hello,” James said uncomfortably as Regulus with equal awkwardness extended a hand for him to shake.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” Regulus said stiltedly and James shook the hand and murmured his thanks. 

“Where’s my kiss, then? I at the very least want a handshake.” Marlene was extending her hand at a regally jaunty angle while she leant her head back on Sirius and fluttered her eyelashes at the ceiling. Sirius was trying not to laugh, especially as his brother leant down and kissed Marlene’s hand too.

“That’s enough, now, any more kissing tonight and he’ll have a heart attack.” 

Regulus glared at his brother and sat down keeping his back unnecessarily straight and dignified. 

“By the way love, how did you figure him out in his disguise? I thought I had dressing myself and others up as women down to a tee.”

Marlene looked smugly from one brother to the other, then she winked at Lily.

“Well, Lily should get most of the credit, I think she guessed it was either him or some really unsavoury Death Eater lover you were keeping in your flat. Was it an extra toothbrush you found? I knew as soon as we started dancing that it was a man, though, because he smelt like one!”

“I don’t smell,” Regulus began haughtily, and Marlene hastened to lean over to comfort him, clumsily patting his cheek and elbow.

“You smelt of cologne and your deodorant was a men’s one. Other than that you smell lovely, just not very womanly you see.”

“Oh.” Regulus seemed uncomfortable from the touching and Marlene stopped petting his arm and flung herself drunkenly back down on Sirius, who grunted as he was mid-swig. A little whisky trickled down his throat and they all watched with some distaste as Marlene licked at the trail.

“Get a room,” James muttered and Remus busied himself with rolling another one. 

“Oh, he wishes,” Marlene said brightly as she got comfortable and Sirius burped resoundingly. 

“Why did you defect from the Death Eaters?” Lily asked Regulus, and again she felt everyone do a double take at her choice of action, even the drunker ones of the group.

“I found out about the horcruxes and didn’t like the idea of an immortal leader for wizarding society. I suppose I started doubting some of the premises of the Death Eater way of life around the same time,” said Regulus carefully. He was looking her in the eye even though Lily was left with the impression that it was costing him rather a lot to do so. “I didn’t like the killing rate and, well…” 

“Well?” Lily prodded.

“There was some sexual violence if you must know.”

“We do know, yes. We’ve been there to clean up a few times.” James’s voice threatened to break and Lily grasped for his hand to lend comfort. 

“My family’s house elf was left to die for no reason, and I am attached to it. Then your friend Dorcas got in touch with me.”

“Dorcas!” Lily found that this time it was her voice that nearly broke.

“She found out I was researching how to destroy horcruxes and she figured out they were the Dark Lord’s. She offered to help me; even said she could save me.” Regulus fell quiet but accepted the Firewhisky bottle Marlene handed him. 

“She was killed by Voldemort because she figured out his secret?” asked Lily.

“He killed her himself but I’m fairly certain he never guessed how much she knew. She saw Bellatrix Lestrange hide a horcrux in Gringotts, which is how we knew it was there in the first place. That’s why she was killed, nobody at all knew that she had contacted me.”

“Regulus walked willingly to his own slaughter by inferius, thinking he’d atone that way. He’d been communicating with Dorcas on pieces of parchment with a protean charm or something similar on them, one of which Moony stole from Dorcas’s flat when the two of you found her dead. That’s how I and Remus got the message and we were just in time to save him from the inferi. Well, Remus got his heart working again, I did the swimming.”

Lily had some more to drink as the story took shape in her mind. Regulus had curled in on himself at the edge of the sofa and he was close to finishing the whisky. It didn’t seem as though he was going to look at the rest of them any time soon.

“Do you know why Voldemort stole Dorcas’s corpse?” Marlene asked, slurring her words a little. Sirius hugged her with unusual gentleness. 

“She is an inferius in the cave too. I think maybe there is something left in her that recognized me.”

“What?” This bit seemed to be news to Sirius and Remus too, but Regulus didn’t add anything else and simply finished the bottle instead. 

“You’re saying the one that was holding you down, the one keeping you from escaping, that was Dorcas?” Sirius was clearly upset and Lily thought James and Remus and Marlene all looked ready to throw up. “I had to sever her…” Sirius’s voice faltered and died but he had raised his own hands from where they had been resting on Marlene which gave Lily enough of a clue to understand what had happened.

“I didn’t know,” Regulus stated and put the empty bottle down carefully on the floor. “But then I was dead at the time as you’ve so aptly stated. She wasn’t alive anymore, Sirius, no reason to feel bad about it. I merely thought that maybe she retained some underlying instinct as she was the one out of all of them that held me under. But there’s no way she could’ve felt pain anymore.” 

“I need a new tattoo,” Sirius muttered to the room at large as he gingerly pulled at the skin around his wrists. 

“If we’re at that part of the evening, maybe we should call it a night and continue tomorrow?” Lily suggested. The dress continued to weigh her down and she was quite eager to get out of it. 

“Are you all staying the night?” Sirius asked.

“I’ll be staying for as long as it takes,” Marlene said suddenly. “I can’t go home as the Death Eaters know where I live. I was going to house-sit for Lily while they were on their honeymoon, but I think it’s better I stay here.”

“What do you reckon about tonight?” James asked Lily. “Our first night as a married couple, fancy spending it in the Shack or do you want to go home?”

“We’ll consummate the marriage here,” Lily decided and managed to keep a straight face over the titters from the others, “mainly because I can’t be arsed to drag this dress through that infernal tunnel a second time to apparate.”

“You can take my room, Prongs, I’ll leave some massage oils and a strap-on out for you, yeah?” Sirius was dislodging Marlene and himself from the sofa as he spoke. 

“You’ve got a varied collection from the sounds of it,” James muttered, but then he laughed with the rest of them. 

“Who’s bunking with who?” Sirius continued as he looked at the remaining three in turn. “I’ve shared a bed with all of you, so I don’t really mind.”

“When have we ever shared a bed?” Regulus protested immediately.

“When we were five and six. You had this recurring nightmare that a gnome with fangs and green toes that wiggled and sometimes dropped off his feet and got lost in your bedsheets would attack you in the night. You came running to my bed several nights a week at one point.”

“I think you’re making that up,” Regulus said with the voice of someone who had suffered similar exposés before. Lily was smiling, though, trying to imagine the brothers as little boys and Marlene was giggling and finding it harder than anyone else to stay upright. 

“James, if you can do the spell work to split the bed in my room I can share with Regulus, as long as he doesn’t mind?” Remus nodded his head meaningfully towards Sirius, who had picked Marlene up from the floor and was now carrying her upstairs. Regulus nodded quickly but Lily thought she saw some deeper emotion in his face as his eyes momentarily followed Sirius’s and Marlene’s unsteady ascent.

“Regulus,” she said quietly before he could follow James and Remus upstairs to see to the beds. He turned immediately, looking a little wary but mostly just small and tired. “Thanks for switching sides and for bringing the information you had with you. I think it’ll mean a lot to the war effort if we ever see the end of this.”

Regulus inclined his head slightly.

“And…” Lily weighed her words, wondering what to say without massively overstepping. “Marlene is looking for true love, always has been. If it was Sirius, she’d know by now.”

There was a brief silence and Regulus’s eyes turned dark and inscrutable as Lily watched him. 

“Goodnight, Lily,” he said finally and began walking upstairs. Lily had less than a minute to herself, wondering what she had gone and said that for, before James slid downstairs on the mostly intact banister, still in his dress trousers and with his shirt flapping open, presumably for her delectation. 

He swooped her up from the ground and she giggled madly as he spun her once or twice first, wide skirts and shirttail flying around them, then carried her up the stairs.

“Soundproofing charms, kids!” they heard Sirius’s voice hiss as they passed the first door and then they burst through the last door to find a large, four poster bed not dissimilar to the ones in Gryffindor tower. Neither was surprised by the bottle of massage oil conspicuously left on the nightstand, but the floating candles, the rose petals on the duvet and the huge jug of charmed-cold water in the corner were all rather more thoughtful gestures than Lily would have thought Sirius capable of. 

“Welcome to the delightfully absurd world of being a Potter,” said James who gave her a heartfelt smile before he set about putting up the soundproofing charms.


	70. We're one but we're not the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "One" by U2.

After James woke up in the dim master bedroom of the Shrieking Shack and made his way downstairs for breakfast, he was informed that his wife had already taken care of the basics. The cat was fed and had been introduced to Bathilda Bagshot, there was a fresh change of clothes for him and she had gotten the kitchen in the Shack to work. Lily had done incredible things with the odd ingredients Sirius was keeping in a charmed cupboard. There was toast, black currant jam, chicken and fried onions for breakfast, along with tea. Everyone but Marlene was up, and it was insinuated that she was too hungover to do more than puke and moan at this stage of the day. 

James found it utterly strange to see Regulus Black at the kitchen table in the Shrieking Shack. The table had been repaired more times than he could count as Moony could be relied upon to knock at least a couple of legs off it each month. Someone had conjured up a cheerful yellow-chequered table cloth for it and Sirius’s little brother was sitting there, looking prim and proper and cradling his mug of tea. He was wearing unnecessarily fine robes and was the only one who had already shaved and combed his hair. He was also thin and sick-looking, James thought he must have lost a lot of weight since they had been enemies on the quidditch pitch. He looked as if he hadn’t seen sunshine in months and as if he was expecting an attack at any moment. 

Remus was standing in the middle of the kitchen and appeared slightly stoned from yesterday. He didn’t look as if he’d slept much and his old Hogwarts robes hung off him as if he, too, had lost weight recently. Sirius was pacing the kitchen with his mug of tea, half naked and impatient and hungover. He was watching over both Regulus and Remus, it seemed. James was used to having to take care of Sirius, was used to Sirius being the one who needed guidance, and it was strange to see Sirius taking on that role. James watched as Sirius tried to hand Remus another slice of toast, which he ignored. There was something forlorn in Remus’s expression, James thought he was acting similarly to how he had after the Whomping Willow incident with Sirius and Snivellus. Sirius was acting that way too, there was something repentant in the way he tried to stroke Remus’s arms and how the wistfulness in his face was closed-off abruptly when he was pushed away.

“Oh,” said a quiet voice next to James. His wife was staring wide-eyed at Remus, whose face was now tightly shut from what could have been pain, and Sirius, who had forcibly stuck his hands into his pockets to keep from touching, but also still standing a mere step away like a good guard dog. 

“I can’t believe I never saw that before,” Lily breathed, so quiet nobody but James could hear her. He didn’t respond, but he did squeeze her hand. Some things were much too bothersome to put into words.

“Is it true Dumbledore has a pensieve in his office?” asked Regulus, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“The memory thing? He does, yeah, we’ve been in his office plenty of times,” James responded, and he was again reminded of the Whomping Willow incident and its aftermath. Remus shuddered visibly where he stood, swaying in the middle of the floor like the last flower standing in an autumn meadow. Sirius broke that image as he stalked past, almost bumping into Remus as he continued to pace.

“Do you have a memory connected to our horcrux hunt that you’ve neglected to tell us about?” Sirius asked sarcastically. Regulus squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

“I was given a memory by Kreacher, the memory of the night he spent with the Dark Lord going to the cave. I was wondering if we ought to have a look at it. Supposedly the Dark Lord talked to himself in parseltongue when Kreacher was there, and it might be something to do with the horcruxes.”

“Of course Voldemort’s a parselmouth,” muttered James to himself.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Sirius said nastily. “And when were you going to tell us about this?”

“It’s been a bit full on since we visited Grimmauld Place, hasn’t it?” Regulus said defensively. James tried to catch Sirius’s eye to ask him about what they had been doing in Sirius’s childhood home of nightmares of all places, but Sirius was busy staring exasperatedly at his brother. Regulus was talking into his tea mug rather than meeting his brother’s eye. “I thought that since we now have a potions expert in our midst, we might be able to get somewhere with the memory.”

“A potion that makes the drinker understand parseltongue, you mean?” Lily mused, and James thought that she was doing an admirable job of keeping up with the disjointed conversation. 

“Easier than transcribing the noises phonetically and looking them up in a book,” said Regulus. “I thought there would be three horcruxes based on the strength of that number, but Sirius suggested there might be four as there were four founders of Hogwarts and the two horcruxes we have are founder’s relics.”

“In that case we definitely should have a butcher's at this memory,” James said, and Sirius muttered something that sounded like “no shit”. Everyone was quiet for a while and James had a feeling they were all waiting for Lily to say something. She appeared to be deep in thought. 

“Right,” she said finally, nodding to herself, “the cloak, where is it?” 

“I’ve been using it to sneak into Malfoy Manor,” Regulus said and shot James a guilty look. James carded a hand through his hair, which was standing on end. Remus looked guilty, too, as he waited for James’s reaction, but as he met Sirius’s eyes he was given an arrogant smirk.

“Wanker,” James told Sirius, as he deduced his best mate was responsible for loaning the precious cloak to a Slytherin. Sirius’s face split into a grin.

“Can I have it, then?” Lily asked again. “If I’m to sneak into the library to research potions, and possibly into Slughorn’s private storage.”

“Of course, pardon me!” Regulus shot up as if he’d really been seated on a knarl all along and slunk out of the kitchen. 

“Sorry about this, James, we should have asked your permission,” Remus said uncomfortably. “We would have told both of you before, but Sirius’s brother insisted he wouldn’t tell us anything unless we promised to keep it a secret.”

“It’s alright, these things can’t be helped.” James waved his hand magnanimously. 

“I’m quite impressed you’ve gotten this far just the three of you,” Lily said, and James smiled a little at the backhanded compliment. Sirius was looking haughtily at her, but Remus was nodding in full agreement. 

“Here you are,” Regulus said, a little bit out of breath as he handed Lily the shimmering cloak of invisibility. He definitely hadn’t stayed in shape since his quidditch days, James thought and had to refrain himself from tutting. 

“Cheers. And there’s a knot by the roots that’ll keep the willow from punching me?” Lily put the cloak on as she talked, gorgeous red hair disappearing and leaving the kitchen decidedly less beautiful. James sighed wistfully and Sirius replied in the affirmative. They could hear her light footsteps and the thumps of the trapdoor in the sitting room of the Shack being lifted and closed. 

“Breakfast,” James muttered, finally reminded of why he’d come to the kitchen in the first place as his belly grumbled and roared at the delicious smell from the frying pan. He tucked in straight from the pan, attacking bits of chicken and slices of onion. He became gradually aware that the atmosphere in the kitchen was thick as undiluted Befuddlement Draught with tension and he gave the three young men a stern look each. Remus was biting his nails, a bad habit of his James hadn’t seen since fifth year when all that drama with Sirius and Snivellus took centre stage. Regulus had shrunk into his chair, looking very fragile for someone who had been a Death Eater. And Sirius had stopped pacing in favour of giving everyone nasty looks. He was definitely ready to explode. 

“What’s the problem, then?” James asked, mainly of Sirius and Remus as he didn’t really care about the ex-Death Eater. Remus flinched as if he’d been hit. 

“Moony won’t look at me because I killed a Death Eater,” Sirius said. He was loud but it wasn’t quite an explosion. Sometimes you had to be grateful for the small successes in life. 

“I do look at you,” Remus said much too mildly. He wasn’t really looking at Sirius, though. 

“I basically fucking killed Ruth, too, but somehow Moony thinks it’s worse that the knobhead who used the bloody Cruciatus Curse on him got a taste of his own medicine.” 

“You didn’t kill Ruth Yaxley,” Remus protested quietly, but Sirius cut across him.

“I don’t regret a sodding thing when it comes to there being one less torturing little cunt of a Death Eater in the world! I did what was right.”

“You used an unforgiveable curse, Sirius, how is that right?” Remus definitely wasn’t looking at him now, and Sirius looked truly heartbroken for a second before he scowled and swore some more. 

“Are you hurt because he used an unforgiveable curse or because he did it for you and you feel responsible?” James interrupted. He was aware that he was displaying less subtlety than a bludger coming for your head, but Lily wasn’t there to help. He also didn’t think he could take more internal strain within the Marauders, the confrontation with Peter last night had already taken everything he had.

Remus didn’t respond but bit his nails some more. It was all utterly predictable, and James turned to Sirius instead, readying himself for the proper explosion.

“How can anything I do be your fault, Remus? Stop with the victim blaming, you were tortured by a repugnant waste of space and I stepped in and turned the tables on him! He would happily have tortured you into a puddle of mooncalf droppings! I did it, I’m the one responsible for it, but it was absolutely the right thing to do!”

James shut his eyes for a second and hoped against hope that Remus wouldn’t say what he knew they were both thinking. Years ago, when Sirius had decided to avenge Remus, he had almost made Remus responsible for the death of their enemy. James could tell that Remus could see the parallel, but Sirius had always been too arrogant to see what he’d done wrong back then.

“It’s not the same, Remus.” 

James eyes flew open and he stared in shock at Sirius. Maybe he wasn’t too arrogant to understand what he’d done after all. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s the same now, either,” James said, propelling himself back into a battle many would suggest he stay out of. This was about the Marauders, however. 

“It’s different,” Remus agreed quietly. “But it doesn’t change the fact that Sirius ended up killing someone in cold blood.”

“I did it for you.”

“I didn’t want you to kill for me.” Remus finally looked up at Sirius, even if it was for less than a second. He then smiled sadly at James and got up from the table, moving away from them. They could hear his careful steps on the stairs. 

James went over and hugged Sirius, although he could tell that Sirius would much rather have received that hug from Remus. 

“The two of you will be alright. Give it some time,” James said soothingly. He suddenly became aware of the awkward fact that Regulus was still in the room with them. Sirius’s brother looked as if he’d quite like to sink through the floor, but he didn’t say anything. Sirius got out of the embrace and lit a cigarette; which James would normally have wrung his neck for. Indoor smoking was not cool. There was no more talking as Sirius smoked and Regulus drank tea and James finished the remaining food.

“Sirius Black!” Lily’s voice was so loud it sent all three of them digging for their wands with the panic of people under attack. “Put out that vile thing, at once! No smoking in my kitchen!” Lily’s hands were on her hips and she was fuming, at first, then laughing as she realized how much she’d scared them. 

“That was quick,” James said shakily. Remus and a dishevelled Marlene had turned up behind Lily, both clutching their wands and ready to defend themselves from the attacker.

“Yes, it was a surprisingly simple one to make, just needed to bring the ingredients to a boil. Fluxweed, dried snowdrop flowers and since it’s parseltongue we want to understand I added the dried skin of a grass snake. It can be modified to understand any animal, apparently. It’s specifically designed for understanding your magical pets, but it should work with any type of animal.”

“Are we saying Voldemort is somebody’s pet now?” Sirius asked as he vanished his fag. Lily smiled hollowly at him.

“I vote Lily or Remus for using the pensieve,” said James, jolting them all back to the mission at hand. “You’re the least likely to get stuck inside of it, or, I dunno, break it.” Sirius clicked his tongue annoyedly beside him, but James stood his ground. He didn’t think either he or Sirius would make good candidates for using a powerful magical artefact that none of them knew how to use. “We’ll need to lure the portraits out of the office, so that they won’t see what we're up to. I’m probably the best for that.”

“I’ll do it,” Remus said quietly. “I’ll wear the cloak. Do we need to draw Professor Dumbledore away, too?”

“Maybe we can wait until dinnertime when he’s in the Great Hall? How long do you reckon looking at a memory will take?”

“What do I say if I get caught?” Remus asked.

“That the Marauders have come back for a last grand prank, of course,” James said immediately. He thought that one was obvious. “I’ll be by the portrait of Sir Cadogan if you need me. The magical lift can go directly to his painting, so I won’t be far away.”

“I’ve got a fanged frisbee Padfoot likes to chew on, and a dial of love potion with McGonagall’s hair in it,” Sirius said matter-of-factly. “Bring them along in case Dumbledore walks in on you. Just make sure he doesn’t catch you with your head in the pensieve, that’ll be more difficult to explain.”

There was a short silence as the six of them mulled things over. James thought that Sirius was the only one who looked as certain as he was that their plan would work; Remus looked as if he was regretting volunteering and Marlene, who had missed most of what was going on looked like she was bursting with questions.

“Why do you have a love potion with McGonagall’s hair in it?” Regulus finally asked. James thought that was a decent question and he also turned to Sirius.

“You never know when it’ll come in handy,” Sirius said, a bit too airily. 

“Were you planning to give it to one of Hagrid’s kneazle kittens?” James asked him astutely, and Sirius shrugged. 

“How are you going to lure the portraits out of the Headmaster’s office?” Lily asked.

“Oh, I have my methods,” James said with a grin. “We go way back.”


	71. Those days are gone forever, I should just let them go, but…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "The Boys of Summer" by Don Henley. 
> 
> Chapter warning for disturbing imagery, dead bodies, house-elf abuse and anachronistic use of the word 'bridezilla'.

“Are you going to forgive Sirius?” James asked him. They were walking across the wet Hogwarts grounds underneath the invisibility cloak. The lights in the Great Hall were on and it was close to dinnertime. 

“It’s not like I have a superfluous number of friends to begin with,” Remus said carefully. “I’m sure I will, I just wish he’d…” Remus fell silent again as he wasn’t quite sure what he’d hoped for from Sirius. Maybe that he’d say he felt bad about using an Unforgiveable Curse? That he regretted killing someone when he could have stunned him instead? That Sirius had finally realized that he shouldn’t meter out Remus’s revenge for him? Simply the word ‘sorry’? 

“You’re a good man, Moony,” James said unexpectedly, and Remus blushed and bit his tongue before he could tell his friend how wrong he was. “We’re Marauders, we need to stick together. War does funny things to everyone’s judgement, but I think that as long as we can forgive each other we’ll see this through.” 

Remus suspected this was about Peter more than Sirius now, but he didn’t say anything. James was the one who found it easy to forgive and forget, not Remus. He had a feeling even Sirius would find it easier to forgive Peter than he would. He had come to expect bad decisions from Sirius, after all, but from Peter? Peter must be out of his mind. How else would he not see that he was selling his soul to the dark side? But then, love was a funny thing. Remus was already teetering on forgiving Sirius, after all, and Sirius had done some horrific things Remus would have to live with for the rest of his life. Logically, it wasn’t right for him to judge Peter, when it was clearly blind love that had led him to his lapse in judgement. 

“Have you considered involving Moody or Dumbledore in this mission?” James asked him when he didn’t respond.

“When both Black brothers have used Unforgiveable Curses?” Remus asked him quietly. “It’s a lifetime in Azkaban for both of them likely as not if we survive this, and it becomes a certainty if we start involving people who actually have to answer to the law. There’s been too much leakage from the Order as well. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if Peter had known about all this? Or Mary?”

“Sirius will never go to Azkaban,” James said forcefully, “not for as long as I live.” There was a lot of conviction behind his words, and Remus assumed that meant he had a point. Purebloods with money tended to be treated better than anyone else in society, and James was not only that; he was respectable, too, something Sirius hadn’t been for years.

“Can we trust Marlene, do you think?” Remus asked. Marlene had never been supposed to be included in all of this, James and Lily was one thing, but Marlene…

“Nothing we can do about it now,” said James with a shrug. They were nearing the front doors. “She’s a Gryffindor, through and through. Dorcas was one of her best friends, and now that her family have had to flee, I think she’ll want revenge. And we can use people who want revenge, can’t we?”

“Yes,” Remus agreed quietly. They opened the doors and slipped inside the Entrance Hall. Remus almost whimpered as his mind was assaulted with the memories of his Hogwarts' days, of the Marauders all together, of that bright glowing happiness he had lived for. There were people walking down the Grand Staircase, students on their way to dinner, and some of them pointed at the door that had seemingly opened and closed by itself. The students seemed to think it was amusing rather than scary. James led Remus carefully towards the doors to the Great Hall. They looked inside and to their great relief Dumbledore was there, presiding over the head table. 

“Showtime,” James breathed, and he kept his grip on Remus and steered him up the stairs, navigating the incoming students expertly. Remus let him stay in charge, James was fast and coordinated enough for two. After the staircase they took a trusted shortcut that was empty of other students, and very soon they found themselves on the third floor outside of the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the tower with the headmaster’s office. 

“Fizzing Whizzbees,” James began quickly, “fudge flies, lemon sherbet, Pepper Imps, Chocolate Frogs…” The gargoyle sprang to life and James grinned and stepped out from underneath the cloak. “Five minutes,” he said confidently and walked off. The end of the corridor contained a trapdoor in the ceiling, which James flicked his wand towards. There was a shimmer as it opened and an old-fashioned, wooden lift appeared halfway up. It was open in front, and James climbed into it with practiced ease. Remus could hear his friend say “Sir Cadogan, seventh floor,” once he had all his limbs inside the lift. Some rattling and shimmering and the lift disappeared and the trapdoor in the ceiling snapped shut. Remus moved past the gargoyle and it shut immediately behind him. There was a revolving staircase in front of him now, the round walls around him lit with dim lanterns. Remus stood in place underneath the cloak and waited. He checked his pockets, just to be sure. There were three small crystal phials there, and hopefully he’d be able to tell them apart. It wouldn’t do to dose the pensieve with undying love for McGonagall. He could also feel the immobilised and well-chewed fanged frisbee. Why Padfoot the dog would enjoy chewing something that would put up a fight and chew him right back was beyond Remus, but then there were plenty of things about Sirius Black that didn’t make sense to him. The last two items in his pocket were a small muggle notebook and a scruffy but functional pen.

Remus took a last, calming breath and stepped onto the first step of the staircase. It took him up faster than he remembered, depositing him on a small landing just as he was starting to feel dizzy. The door swung open for him, which felt disconcerting. Remus stepped in.

The room was beautiful and cluttered and had round walls. Fawkes the phoenix was a tiny thing poking out of a pile of ashes, but Remus didn’t stop to say hello. He had a quick look around, eyes skimming over every single picture frame. All of their inhabitants were gone. Well done James.

There were plenty of cupboards that were technically big enough to contain a pensieve, but instinct brought Remus to the correct one on his first attempt. It was in the corner by the window, an old thing with lighter and more worn wood than anything else in the room. As Remus opened the doors a spherical stone bowl came into view. It wasn’t a very decorative piece, although it did have a number of runes around the rim. Remus didn’t stop to read them, instead he pulled out the phial that was warmest, and the phial that was lightest. Lily’s potion was a pleasant green and it was almost hot to drink. It didn’t taste of much at all and Remus gulped it down, marvelling at how much he trusted his friends. His head began to buzz pleasantly, but there wasn’t any other immediate effect. He then poured the light tendrils of memory straight into the pensieve and stuck his nose into it. The effect was instantaneous.

Remus landed safely in a boat that was already completely occupied. Lord Voldemort was an attractive man, that was the first thing Remus realized, and he did so whilst battling with a nauseating tug in his stomach. The man was tall and thin and pale as anything, but being lit up by the sinister, green light from the centre of the lake made his skin look like a very light jade. His dark eyes flashed with colour occasionally as he spoke, and his hair was black and shiny with no grey in sight. Remus began taking notes immediately, unsurprised that he was able to understand the weird noises coming out of the enemy’s mouth.

A house elf was shivering next to him, but Remus barely spared it a glance. If he did, he’d have to witness what was sure to be Kreacher the house-elf's worst memory, and Remus was quite preoccupied already as it was. It was lucky he’d been in this cave before because it meant he wasn’t intrigued by the alluring play between darkness and light, the gross dripping noises that seemed to come from the black walls, nor did he feel the urge to examine the decaying and torn bodies that were following at a respectful distance in the boat’s wake. This was put to the test when Voldemort became quiet for a bit, and Remus made the mistake of looking up. One of the inferi did catch his eye, then, dead hair dripping around her distended face and ruined eye sockets turned towards him as if she had somehow sensed his presence. Remus looked down at his lap, feeling a cold sweat break out over his neck. Dorcas had been so healthy and kind-looking in life. What Voldemort had done to her was inexcusable. 

“Drink this.” Remus’s head snapped up again at the cold, high voice, which sounded different to the parseltongue he’d been listening to before. The elf was still shivering, shoulders hunched in defeat. Its thin arms struggled to hold up the large goblet, but it drank and drank until the goblet was empty, then it began to sob. Remus’s heart clenched and a wild need to hurt the wizard who was standing there with a cold smile on his face surged through him. 

“Kreacher can’t, Kreacher needs water, please sir…”

Remus looked away; he couldn’t watch this. He listened in an unwell daze, but there was no more parseltongue. It didn’t take very long, either, before the house-elf was beyond begging and the noises of the tiny, bony body thrashing around on the rocks, gasping desperately for air, was the only noises except for the quiet laughter. 

Remus looked up in time to face Lord Voldemort, who was striding back to the boat. His eyes were completely devoid of remorse, there was only a calm triumph in them, as if everything had gone according to plan. The basin behind him was filled with potion, matching the colour scheme of the cave. Remus jumped up from the boat in a panic, momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t really there. The house-elf was crawling towards the edge of the water, tiny body and hoarse voice utterly broken. One of the inferi, a little girl by the looks of it, was kneeling in the shallows, index finger crooked and motioning the house-elf towards her. The back of her head looked as if it had been blasted by a terrible curse and caved in on itself, and her face bore no expression. 

Remus wrenched himself out of there, his whole body momentarily defying gravity and then landing back in the headmaster’s office with a thump. His neck snapped from the motion, and he just managed to stop himself from swearing.

“I did have my suspicions,” an unctuous voice from the side said, “when that ne’er-do-well Potter boy showed up out of the blue. And now I’ve been proven right. In my time the students certainly wouldn’t have dreamed of breaking into the headmaster’s office, but then, you’re probably not a student anymore, are you?”

Remus clasped the cloak tighter against his body and fumbled with the empty phial and his wand. He scooped up the odd, droopy substance and coaxed it back into its phial, the oily voice from the portrait still ringing in his head.

“Am I perhaps in the presence of the embarrassment that is my great-great-grandson? Or is this merely one of his low-born associates?”

Remus closed the cupboard and fled, he ran as fast as he could to the door, wrenched it open, and took the staircase at a breakneck speed that was usually reserved for James and Sirius. 

He scrambled into the magical lift with far more clumsiness than James had, but it didn’t matter. The lift whirred into life at his urgent request to get to Sir Cadogan’s portrait, and it made fast work of the unpredictable architecture of the castle. It came to a halt in the middle of a tucked-away corridor on the seventh floor and Remus jumped out on shaky legs. There was laughter ringing through the enclosed space, James was standing in the middle of the floor with a bottle of butterbeer in each hand (where had they come from?) and bright eyes and cheeks. Sir Cadogan’s portrait was full of people from all times and ages, he was entertaining not just the eccentric knight and his pony, but every single deceased headmaster and headmistress the school had ever had. All except one. James had no doubt heard the lift and he didn’t react at all as Remus poked him urgently in the back, still hidden by the cloak. 

“And that’s how we found out that the mermaid was a local girl. Sirius likes them Scottish, although I’m not sure if she had much of an accent… Anyway, that’s more or less what we’ve been up to. It’s been great to catch up, and I promise I’ll bring him along next time. He’ll do more justice to the story about the duel between the vampire wrangler and the banshee, I promise. Have a good one, now!” James bowed and twirled around smoothly, finely avoiding hitting Remus. The former headmasters and headmistresses were all calling out their goodbyes and the fat pony could be heard neighing over the cacophony. Remus hurried to keep up with James and pulled him underneath the cloak as soon as they had rounded the corner. 

“All well?” James asked immediately, he was still flushed in the face and clutching the random butterbeer bottles.

“Phineas Nigellus came back, and he’ll tell Professor Dumbledore there was someone by the pensieve,” Remus whispered agitatedly. James frowned but didn’t seem too worried. 

“Could’ve been worse,” he said instead. “In that case we do need to pull off a prank while we’re here, I was thinking McGonagall, but better have it outside of Dumbledore’s office, then.”

James upped the pace and Remus was barely able to keep up with him. They tore down several staircases, James holding onto his arm again when it became clear that Remus would stumble and fall at the first opportunity. 

“Hold this,” James said when they finally were within range of the stone gargoyle. Remus mutely took the bottles and watched as James dug out his wand and began throwing spells at the gargoyle. It was soon outfitted in a not-too shabby approximation of Lily’s wedding dress, the wall behind it became an altar and James even transfigured the bottles in Remus’s hands into wedding rings, both of which floated into the air to hover in front of the bemused-looking gargoyle. A final few flourishes of James’s wand, two more muttered incantations, and there was a banner with “Just Married” arranging itself over the altar and some rose petals floating down from the ceiling. 

“Run!” James whispered next, and Remus could hear the footsteps too. They began running back through the corridor, but there was no time to catch the magical lift and so they rounded another corner, then began backing down the long way towards the Entrance Hall. Remus was completely out of breath but he did still seem to have unusual amounts of adrenalin pulsing through his system, and even though he felt as if he might drop dead from exhaustion he managed to keep up. They began meeting students again, mostly Gryffindors on their way to the tower, and then they were finally back in the Entrance Hall and able to sneak back out. 

It was completely dark outside, now, and Remus could see the waning gibbous moon, taunting him from the skies. He decided to ignore it, a luxury he could afford for a few more weeks.

“Shouldn’t you have made the gargoyle a groom?” he asked as they neared the Whomping Willow.

“Ah. I wasn’t really thinking, was I?” James agreed readily. “Something about that gargoyle just screamed ‘bridezilla’ to me.”

“You may have a point there,” Remus conceded, and he watched James lazily charm an abandoned branch into launching itself like a kamikaze pilot between the angry branches of the willow, unerringly stabbing the knot that made the tree freeze. They walked and crawled through the winding tunnel; invisibility cloak now tucked underneath James’s old Pride of Portree jumper. The tunnel felt much shorter now that Remus wasn’t in it because of an impending full moon, and soon they were crawling through the trapdoor and into the grimy sitting room of the Shack.

“It’s worse than we thought,” Remus began without preamble, sitting down on the rug and watching the eager faces of his five co-conspirators. “There’s not three, not even four horcruxes, but five.”


	72. What turns you on now your animal’s gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Animal Nitrate" by Suede.

Marlene’s whole world was threatening to blast apart like a carelessly handled erumpent’s horn. She was taking it with a smile on her face and she hoped that would be enough to weather it. Her sorry state of mind went some way towards explaining why she had helped Lily cook dinner, though, as she bloody hated housework. She had also spent time charming the walls of the Shrieking Shack until they didn’t let the cold and the damp through. It was getting almost tropical inside now, with so many people stuck together between heated walls and with plenty of steam emerging from the kitchen. Adding to it was the anxiety some of the people within emanated, and the tension that stretched and bristled between certain individuals; the combined effect meant that soon Marlene would be able to pull out the summer dresses that filled most of her rucksack.

Marlene’s family were still in the Caribbean, and it was with some reluctance they had let her leave. She was of age, though, and she always managed, as she had seen fit to remind them several times. Her younger siblings were staying put; they’d been talking about getting surfing lessons. Marlene was beyond jealous, but she could never have buried her head in the sand. She needed to be in the thick of it and she was beginning to itch for a fight. She’d show those pesky Death Eaters they couldn’t have their new world order, and even better if they could bring down the mastermind behind it all. 

She was still not quite sure she understood what a horcrux was, but she quite agreed that they needed to rid the wizarding world of them. The whole idea that there could be something so evil in the world, someone who would choose to live forever at the expense of the carefully crafted peaceful society of others, made her furious. The stories of how the boys had gotten their hands on the two in their possession were macabre, and the thought of cohabiting with some cut-offs of Lord Voldemort’s soul would have been absurd at the best of times. The thought made her physically sick, although the lads had informed her that the horcruxes as objects were evil enough to literally do that, too.

She could not go back to her parent’s house for fear of being met by Death Eaters, and although she had admittedly entertained the idea of asking Sirius and Remus if she could stay with them already before the wedding, she could never in a million years have guessed what their current arrangement was. They were living in Hogsmeade’s most haunted, a hovel that would barely qualify as housing for ghosts, let alone humans, and they had a resident Death Eater with them, privy to all their secret plans. 

Regulus Black was a peculiar one. Against all her instincts to despise him she had found herself feeling sorry for him. He was like a young aristocrat from an outdated novel who had fallen on hard times, but not just once but twice. She’d seen the Dark Mark and she knew he wouldn’t have gotten it by just sitting in on meetings. He definitely had blood on his hands. But he had changed his mind and decided to make amends, leaving all kinds of strange rumours behind but still managing to fake his death. As far as Marlene knew, nobody but Lily and Benjy had seen through it. He was still far from whole, though, even though he was unlikely to be tasked with the same type of soul-destroying activities here as he had been with the Death Eaters. He wasn’t a Gryffindor like the rest of them, although he sure had acted that way when he walked to his own death. He was doing a fair enough impression of someone who had already died, there really didn’t seem to be much left of him. Clearly, he wasn’t thriving in their company, and the mission they had gotten themselves entangled in was something he seemed to be doing on autopilot. This all held true, except for the way he had reacted when she kissed him.

It was a long time since she had managed to make someone blush that sweetly, to make someone look at her as if they loved her. The disgust she felt for his past should be insurmountable, but the evidence so far was inconclusive.

Marlene thought he looked rather less like Sirius than everyone else seemed to think. He was both a lot darker and a lot more innocent than Sirius. Marlene saw plenty of herself in Sirius, not the obnoxious arrogance of course, nor the subpar shaving technique, but she thought he and she were two sides of the same coin. They were survivors first and foremost, pleasure seekers second. Bad knuts that would, at the end of the day, always turn up again, ready for use, no matter where they had been tossed. The little brother wasn’t like that at all; he might be surviving in the strictest sense, but Marlene thought his previous life had already used up most of him. She wondered if what was left was worth salvaging. 

They were lazing about in the beat-up sitting room of the Shack, eating shepherd’s pie and greens, when Remus and James got back. Marlene had been studying the scratches on the walls and the furniture that was barely standing and at this point completely held together with magic of varying strength and finesse. She wondered if Remus had had his friends over to the Shack on nights when he wasn’t a werewolf, whether this was where the Marauders had spent so much time when they roamed the school at night. It didn’t meet her standards, but she assumed four teenage wizards had not been too fussed, and they had probably helped Remus magic the place back together whenever he broke it.

“Five horcruxes?” Sirius voice was even more dramatic than usual and Remus spasmed oddly as he was addressed by his friend.

Marlene, who was lounging next to Sirius again, decided that now was not the time to ask for further details on the nature of horcruxes, although she still thought it couldn’t really be bits and pieces of a soul they were hunting. How would you even go about splitting something like a soul? Did humans even have souls?

“At least we know now, right?” James said from the other sofa with his familiar brand of borderline asinine optimism. The others looked at him as if he’d just stated that fighting a dragon might not be so difficult.

“There’s the locket and the cup, as we know. Malfoy is taking care of a diary, and, get this, Voldemort’s hidden Ravenclaw’s diadem in something I’m pretty sure is the Room of Requirement.” Remus’s voice was thick with disdain, and Marlene watched him with undisguised fascination. He was usually so kind and mild-mannered that any negative emotion he expressed had the effect of a hex slashing through the air. 

“You’re having us on?” Sirius and James both gaped at him.

“Is that one of your secret passageways inside the castle?” asked Lily.

“It’s just a room, but it is in Hogwarts, you’re quite right.”

“A room jampacked with rubbish. At least we know what we’re looking for, though. This is ace, Remus!”

“What’s the fifth one?”

“I’m pretty sure he said it’s a ring. Makes sense as most of the others are metal and precious stones. Bit of a poncey treasure hoarder, this self-styled Lord.”

“I love it when you grow claws, Moony.”

“Sod off. Anyway, the location for this one will be more difficult to figure out. It sounded as if he said that it’s in ‘the gaunt house’. I’ve never heard a house being described as ‘gaunt’, however, so…”

“His mother was a Gaunt!” shouted Lily, cutting across Remus, her eyes wild. Marlene resisted the urge to laugh. Lily had gone from collected to near-hysterical in seconds flat and everybody else looked baffled.

“What?” 

“Oh no, how stupid I’ve been! Miss Bagshot told me about him, and I didn’t realize it was Voldemort she was talking about,” Lily said, wild eyes distraught and almost feverish. Marlene had never heard Lily call herself stupid before. “His real name is Tom Riddle, and his mother was a Gaunt. Is Gaunt a family name?”

“Gaunt?” Regulus repeated incredulously.

“Yeah it is, they’ve died out though,” said Sirius.

“But the Gaunts were lowlifes,” said Regulus perplexedly. “I mean, they were pureblood all right, but they were poor and played little role in society.”

“That’s who Voldemort’s mother was,” said Lily decisively. “Bathilda Bagshot told me. The Gaunts of Little Hangleton. He asked professor Binns about them when he was at school. Miss Bagshot said that his father was a muggle, and that he was embarrassed about his last name. But his mother was a witch.”

Regulus slipped his head into his hands, hiding from view. Sirius was grinning as if Christmas had come early and James began kissing Lily in a messy and congratulatory manner. 

“So, the big bad lord isn’t even a pureblood himself?” Marlene stated with relish. “He’s happy to pretend that purebloods are superior to everyone else, but he is trying to keep under wraps that he’s half muggle himself? By default, that means he doesn’t mean a fucking word he’s saying, what the Death Eaters and the blood purists are saying. It’s all a charade, he just wants to rule.”

“Power over Britain and exclusive immortality,” Remus said.

“Any comments, little brother? I take it his heritage isn’t widely known in your former circles?”

“Is there any Firewhisky left?” Regulus asked.

“You’re going to prove mother right one of these days, she always did bang on about how I was a bad influence on you when we were kids.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, she drinks more than you do.” 

Sirius shrugged but he did get up to go look in the kitchen. Marlene stared curiously at the younger Black, but he still looked mostly vacant, even after the revelations and the half-hearted banter. Lily and James were full-on snogging on the sofa now, and Marlene looked at Remus instead, a soft and angular shape on the rug. He was staring sadly at the empty spot on the couch where Sirius had been sitting.

“What was it like, transforming in here?” she asked him on a whim. He looked miserable enough that talking about his lycanthropy couldn’t make things worse. At first, she thought he would ignore her, but then he looked up. He had rather nice eyes, Marlene thought. Bags under his eyes and too many crowfeet in the corners, but the eyes themselves were pretty. 

“Spliff?” he asked her and she nodded. He had already rolled one, it seemed, and Marlene helped him light it with the tip of her wand. He had a few puffs before he gave it to her. It ripped at her lungs, but she had long since decided she liked it, and she closed her eyes in pleasure and in pain. When she opened them again Remus wasn’t looking at her anymore, but Regulus was. She smiled at him. Then Remus spoke:

“I’ve almost killed myself in here, so many times I can’t even remember anymore.” Marlene felt a measured sort of coldness prick holes in the smoky blanket she had just begun to numb herself with. 

“Merlin's pants, it’s hot in here. What’d you do to the walls, Marlene?” Sirius stopped in front of the sofa and wrestled with something fancy and knitted he was wearing. When it got temporarily stuck around his head Marlene noted that Remus, too, had a look at the newly exposed torso. 

“Teaching Regulus how to smoke?” Sirius continued with an unnecessary level of approval once he was free. Regulus had taken the Firewhisky bottle Sirius had brought and was eyeing the spliff suspiciously, but it didn’t seem likely that he’d ask for a hit. Marlene handed it to Sirius instead as he got comfortable next to her.

“Remus is reminiscing,” she said carefully, and turned her eyes back to his. They were very difficult to read.

“Not getting maudlin on us, are you?” Sirius said offhandedly, but Marlene thought it might be an act. Remus had begun rolling a second spliff and frowned a little as he focused. He had deep lines in his forehead, too, it wasn’t just around his eyes. Marlene wondered if the monthly transformations were making him age prematurely.

“I was telling Marlene and Regulus of all the times I almost died in this cursed house,” he said quietly. Marlene had expected him to make up something else for Sirius and she coughed a little on her inhale.

“Painting yourself up as a monster to the kids for a change?” Sirius asked after a brief pause.

“So far I’ve not needed the paint. What I was going to say next, though, is that the wolf stopped trying to kill me round about fifth year.” Remus lit the new spliff and he eyed them all thoughtfully, Sirius the longest. 

“The wolf loves the dog, I can tell,” Sirius said and reached out for the spliff in Remus’s hand.

“Can you?” Remus asked evenly and turned to Marlene. “Sirius and the others have conjured up a special dog for me each full moon since we were fifteen. Since then I’ve been alright. So, to answer your question, this place houses the memories of my salvation as much as it does of my curse.”

“You’re talking in metaphors again, aren’t you?” Sirius said lightly. “Are you suggesting the Shack is sitting on a secret weapon we can use to destroy the horcruxes with?”

“No. That reminds me, though, do you or your parents have contacts that could get us some basilisk venom?” Remus asked.

“I’ve never even heard of that as a product you can trade in,” Marlene said as she slowly shook her head, blonde curls bouncing, “it’s just poison, isn’t it? What sort of potion could it be used in, as it’s already the most dangerous substance there is?”

“Good point,” Remus admitted reluctantly.

“Remus was always rubbish at potions. I remember one time, he managed to turn a completely benign batch of murtlap essence into this cheese-smelling lump that grew appendages that tried to strangle anyone who came near the cauldron.”

“Yes, thank you,” Remus said aggravatedly and Marlene threw her head back and laughed.

“Where did you put the horcruxes we have, Sirius?” Regulus asked. “They are somewhere safe, right?”

“Oh yes, they’re exactly where you’d want them.” Sirius’s eyes travelled dispassionately over the moaning, four-limbed knot of James and Lily, who were still busy on the other sofa. “I say, the effect they’re having on Prongs and Lily is a bit different to what they had on us, eh?”

“You hid two bits of Voldemort’s soul underneath the sofa cushions?” Remus asked exasperatedly. 

“I’m a genius, I know,” Sirius agreed readily.

“I think that’s excellent,” Marlene said. “It’s sort of like when you desecrated Knockturn Alley with muggle graffiti, or whatever it was called. Let’s ask them if they’ll shag on Voldemort’s soul, too.”

“I’m glad we’ve included you in this,” Sirius said approvingly. “I’m sensing you’ll be full of great ideas.”

“I’ll show anybody a good time, me. Body and soul,” Marlene grinned, which made Regulus splutter on his Firewhisky bottle. Maybe she could have some fun with him. "Now, a little bird told me that you three nutters brought a turntable with you? I feel like dancing."


	73. Choose your leaders and place your trust, as their lies wash you down and their promises rust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from The Jam's "Going Underground". 
> 
> Introducing Alastor Moody.

“Here’s the thing,” Emmeline Vance said, “young miss Meadowes was in Gringotts on the day of her murder. The same day Bellatrix Lestrange was there. The goblin I’ve spoken to refuses to divulge what business either one was there on, but they were there, and my informant hinted that they were there at the same time.”

Alastor looked from Emmeline to Albus. They were all seated in the Headmaster’s Office at Hogwarts. Emmeline was her usual confident self, and she was clearly of the opinion that this was ground-breaking news. Albus was impossible to read as always, although he did seem amused by how intently Alastor was scrutinizing him. Alastor scowled at him, and he could have sworn that the smile widened underneath that damned Father Christmas beard.

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” he growled, and Emmeline raised a proud, thick eyebrow as if she found him lacking in gratitude. 

“We may finally have the answer to why Voldemort killed miss Meadowes himself. Bellatrix was on his business in Gringotts and miss Meadowes saw something that was important enough to kill over.” 

“You think he killed Meadowes himself?” Alastor asked gruffly.

“Don’t you?” Albus’s voice was mild and infuriating. 

“Yeah, alright,” Alastor grumbled. He refrained from wincing as a flash of pain tore through his shoulder. His body still hadn’t forgotten about the thrashing it had received some weeks previously. He was done with being on sick leave, though. “Does this Gringotts business have something to do with where the lass's corpse went?”

Emmeline gave Albus a quick glance that Alastor certainly didn’t miss. He knew she was on special research, and he had gathered from previous conversations that Lord Voldemort was up to his neck in dark ritualistic magic. What sort of extra powers he had gained or weapons he had made was a secret even he wasn’t privy to, but clearly it was related to this.

“I still believe Voldemort is trying to raise an army of the dead. Her corpse has likely been added to that number,” Albus said, his eyes unusually sad. 

“Fantastic,” Alastor muttered. 

“There’s also been continued traffic outside of Malfoy Manor,” Emmeline continued, “if our charms are correct there’s been between one and two presences there several days a week that we can’t account for. That rash Mr Fenwick is presumably one of this number, but who the other one is remains a mystery.”

“Fenwick believes Regulus Black is still alive and on a secret mission, answering only to Voldemort,” Moody explained. “Not sure how he’s trying to prove it, but I suppose it’s conceivable that he thinks that Malfoy’s wife, who is the cousin of the dead boy and our own Black, is harbouring him in Malfoy Manor. I’ve told him to cut it out, we can’t have him overriding what I and Albus have assigned him with.”

“Regulus Black?” Emmeline repeated with a frown. 

“I will invite Mr Fenwick here tomorrow,” Albus mused and he leant his elbows on his desk and pressed his fingers together, “what time would suit you, Alastor?”

“Can we make it the day after tomorrow? I’m fully booked.” Albus nodded and Alastor fidgeted a little in his chair. He didn’t like sitting still for so long, it wasn’t healthy. He also had tons of paperwork at Headquarters to look through, and tomorrow there would be an official raid against a worker at the Wizengamot who was suspected not only of accepting bribery, but also of having participated (in his capacity as a Death Eater) in the attack on Alastor’s home.

Emmeline took her leave and Albus rose courteously to see her off. Alastor tapped his foot impatiently on the floor and eyed the items on the desk in front of him suspiciously. Albus kept his rooms cluttered and plenty of the things in here looked as if he’d received them as gifts or maybe bought them from unreliable shops. Albus presumably thought himself an expert in his own right in the field of cursed objects, but you could never be too careful. 

“Any further news?” Albus was back and Alastor reluctantly put back the small wooden globe of the world he had been examining. America was missing from it, but it didn’t seem obviously cursed.

“There’s continued suspicious behaviour at Quality Quidditch Supplies,” Alastor said, “but I don’t believe Pettigrew is in on it. The lass who worked there has quit and moved overseas, we’ve checked it out, but it seems legitimate. That leaves the owner of the place.”

“Good. Do keep me updated.”

“Not much else I can think of. We still haven’t come up with a viable countercurse for the anti-apparition jinx they’re using. It’s been modified well beyond the standard one the Ministry uses. And we’re also not running full capacity this week as the Potters are on their honeymoon.”

“You’re sure of that?” Albus’s eyes twinkled maddeningly again and Alastor decided to ignore him.

“Prewett apparently needs a couple more days before he joins us, and we’re sorting out the wards around his sister’s house. She isn’t called Prewett anymore, but there’s a risk that the Death Eaters will try to get to her or her wee bairns. There’s been no sign of Macdonald’s muggle brother, his trail is colder than a witch’s tit. And speaking of Fenwick, he has requested a safehouse for his double agent, the one who’s providing him with information on Rosier, Snape and that lot. He tells me it’s getting too dangerous for this person to continue.”

“In that case we should provide them with something. They’ve done rather well, haven’t they?”

“Don’t even know if it’s a witch or a wizard,” Alastor said with a frown. “Somehow I think it’s a witch, less likely to get pressured into fighting for those minging Death Eaters.”

Albus tipped his head in apparent agreement and the two of them stared contemplatively at each other. 

“I’d like to extend my thanks for your service as usual. The Order couldn’t do without you,” Albus said finally. Alastor felt his back straighten further and he nodded his thanks. Alastor was the de-facto leader of the Order, but Albus was of course the founder and the only person who could compete with Voldemort when it came to a certain level of thinking. It felt good to hear praise from him. 

They had discussed everything of importance now and he left the office soon after, walking towards Hogsmeade to disapparate. A shadow emerged from behind a yew tree before he even got to the first of the cottages that made up the village, but Alastor was ready for it. His shield charm was immaculate and the curse he sent in return blasted part of the yew into smithereens. There was nothing for the Death Eater but to disapparate, and as usual Alastor cursed the day Mrs Rosier pushed out the worthless chunk of meat that was Evan Rosier into the world. 

Alastor continued walking, going all the way to the Three Broomsticks to have a quick pint before he apparated. Albus only ever served tea or sherry, and Alastor didn’t much care for either. The encounter with Rosier had hardly made him break into a sweat, but a drink still wouldn’t go amiss.

One table was particularly rowdy as he entered, and he recognized the faces immediately. 

“You call this patrolling?” Alastor grumbled as his eyes swept over the youths. Lupin and McKinnon were both eyeing him with varying degrees of apprehension. Their task for today, as Moody happened to know, was to keep the whole of Hogsmeade safe, not just the one table in the pub. They weren’t with whom they were supposed to be out with, either. Black was there, and what's worse he was wearing the phoenix shirt Alastor had long since told him and Potter to burn. Those two jokers had designed their own t-shirts that besmirched the symbol of the group they belonged to, and they had had the gall to wear them on some of their missions before Alastor caught sight of them. Of course, he should’ve guessed that Black couldn’t follow even the simplest of orders. 

“We just stopped to see there’s nobody suspicious in here, and then Madam Rosmerta offered to warm us up,” Black said insolently, indicating his pint. There was a needless and arrogant flash of teeth and Alastor stared him down. McKinnon giggled like a schoolgirl next to him.

“Where’s Pettigrew?”

“His mother was taken ill, and he’ll need time to himself,” Lupin said, “that’s why I thought it might be a good idea to bring Sirius instead. What with Mary… And James and Lily busy… Sorry, I should’ve checked with you first,” he added uncomfortably and Alastor huffed with more annoyance than he really felt. 

“You do need to be three,” he conceded reluctantly. “I’d advise you get going, though, and sharpish if you know what's good for you.”

“Will do,” Remus said quickly, he was already getting up. McKinnon and Black grinned at each other, then raised their half-full pints at the same time and began downing them as fast as possible.

“I won!” McKinnon shouted gleefully, completely ignoring the daggers Alastor was glaring. He flicked his wand just as Black lowered his empty pint glass and made it explode into several peacock butterflies, brown but with vivid blue eye markings. The three kids jumped and looked satisfyingly startled.

“Constant vigilance!” he told them angrily, but it didn’t quite have the effect he was going for and he saw all three exchanging smiles; Lupin’s and McKinnon’s almost indulgent and Black’s conceited enough Alastor rather wished to thwack him across the head. 

He had his pint but still left the Three Broomsticks in a fit of bad humour, partly since he knew he would have plenty of papers to go through once he got back.

The Isle of Skye was dark and drizzly when he found his footing behind a small shop in Torrin. It was minutes before closing time, and Alastor stepped in purposefully and even bade the shopkeeper a good evening to ensure his success. He needed eggs and ham and milk, and as usual he couldn’t quite resist the selection of sweeties. Muggle sweeties had nothing on Honeydukes, but they would do in a pinch. His hand was on his wand as he rounded up the things he needed to buy, and he tried to stay facing the shopkeeper and the exit at all times. You could never be too careful.

He apparated to the path by the Fairy Pools with his shopping. The waterfall was loud tonight but the fear of being ambushed refused to let him stay out there and listen. He took the plunge cradling his bag of shopping. The antechamber was dark and quiet except for the low pounding of water above. He pushed the door open and entered the main hall, which was mercifully deserted. Dedalus Diggle had taken to showing up for what he called ‘a nightcap’ and Alastor called ‘a nuisance’. He thought Diggle must be a very lonely man, but that didn’t make him any less annoying. Alastor thought he would do well to stay in his own house unless he specifically had Order business to attend to. Alastor didn’t have a house of his own anymore, but the fact that he chose to live at Headquarters didn’t mean that he wanted to spend time with his fellow Order members in a purely social capacity. 

He had a look through the night’s _Evening Prophet_ , which contained a nasty article that dredged up some supposedly controversial rulings Albus had helped make as Supreme Mugwump for the Wizengamot. They weren’t really controversial, as far as Alastor could tell, but the _Prophet_ had days when it was eager to discredit him in any way it could. Moody thought it was partly to do with Rita Skeeter’s insatiable bloodlust, and partly to do with other journalists who had been bought by Death Eaters, not to mention the current editor Sedatus Whimple. Skeeter had published an article earlier in the week where she wrote about the mental instability in the Potter family (it figures there had been a fair amount of eccentrics amongst them) and suggested that this might be the reason why James was fighting phantom adversaries and making up stories about muggles he’d saved from the clutches of the fabled You-Know-Who (Voldemort was not a name anybody but Order members used anymore, and Skeeter was of course the journalist who had coined this other, equally ridiculous, moniker). Potter and occasionally Black got their fair share of slander written about themselves, and there was nothing the Order or the kids themselves could do about it.

Alastor had suffered abuse in the papers as well. His prolonged sick leave had started rumours about his own mental health, and the _Prophet_ had interviewed or possibly just pretended to interview some of his auror colleagues (who remained anonymous on print) who had told the paper all sorts of anecdotes about how Alastor was losing his mind. It had not been a nice read.

At least the _Prophet_ wasn’t as bad as _Pure Magic_ , Alastor thought wryly to himself. _Pure Magic_ had long since crossed into illegal territory, and the last number had quite sincerely suggested that every reader who knew a witch or wizard with muggle parents write the paper and tell them their names. 

It was long past midnight when he finally extinguished all candles but one, which he floated in front as he walked to a door that was almost completely obscured by a full-length mirror. It opened into a modest bedchamber that contained a small bed, a wardrobe and several piles of boxes filled with the things that had been saved from his burning house.

Alastor locked the door, then laid down on his back with a grunt. His shoulder was sore and it was difficult to find a good position. He rummaged around underneath his pillow until he came up with two photographs.

The first one was of four austere-looking people in outdated auror’s robes. His parents and his aunt and uncle saluted him as he watched, all with serious eyes and premature sorrows visible in their frowns or in the downturned corners of their mouths. His father had a bit of a glint in his eye, and sometimes Alastor even caught him with half a smile on his face. All four had died on the job; his parents together and his aunt and uncle on two separate missions. They had been witches and wizards you could look up to, relatives you could be proud of. Alastor felt his chest swell, just a little, at the thought of who they had been and who that made him.

The second picture was a recent one they had snapped at an Order meeting; it had been taken at Emmeline’s house. Alastor saw himself standing proud on the right, keeping an eye on his charges, but still one of the gang. He thought even the youngsters in the picture looked unusually solemn. He had been told that it wasn’t in the nature of young people to consider questions of mortality, particularly not their own, but there was more than banal laughter in their faces, something perceptive, something expectant. And he looked at Albus, tall and serene on the left, his brother hiding not far behind him like an erroneous shadow. Albus inclined his head just a little, as if to say ‘I'm counting on you’.

Alastor blew out the hovering candle and it floated down to the floor as he floated off into sleep, hand clasped securely around his wand.


	74. I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Carry on Wayward Son" by Kansas.

“Here you are,” Lily said as she handed the tiny bottles around. Sirius accepted his and gave it an experimental shake. It had a royal purple colour and the bottle came with a leather string tied into a loop. He put it around his neck and hid the bottle underneath his shirt (he was wearing an artfully ripped Siouxsie and the Banshees concert t-shirt). He noticed that there was one bottle left after everyone had been given one. 

“This is a specially modified Forgetfulness Potion”, Lily explained. “It’ll make you forget just about everything for a full forty-eight hours. Legilimency and Veritaserum can’t override it, and as it’s my recipe there’s no readily available antidote.” Lily sighed deeply; Sirius didn’t think she looked particularly happy about her creation. “I hope none of you will ever need it.”

Sirius eyed the remaining bottle speculatively as the others murmured their awkward thanks to Lily. He wondered if she was off to Peter’s, now. He tried his best not to think too much about the rat, as he wanted to stay angry with him. Peter didn’t have far to go to become fully half-witted, but of course Sirius knew that he wasn’t actually working together with the Death Eaters. That notion was too ridiculous to even contemplate. No, Peter was an idiot and he’d done something even more moronic than usual just to get his dick wet. It didn’t take much brains to see what had happened, but to give Peter the benefit of the doubt, it was possible that most of what had been leaked to the enemy had been leaked by Mary, rather than through Peter’s girlfriend. The Order was becoming dangerous to entrust with information, though, and Sirius was beyond relieved that they hadn’t told the Order what they knew or what they were up to. 

“Fancy a game of spot the horcrux, mate?” James asked him nonchalantly. He was tossing the cloak of invisibility into the air and catching it, then balling it up and tossing it again. 

“Yeah, should be riveting,” Sirius agreed. It was after lunch now and the students and teachers of Hogwarts ought to be busy.

Sirius loved walking through Hogwarts underneath the cloak. The castle was intimately connected with all the fun he’d had with the Marauders and he thought the school must miss them. They had owned it, really. They had discovered all its secrets and they had done everything you could possibly do underneath its roof. Sirius had set off pranks in every room they passed, he had hexed someone in every corridor, he had gotten top marks in every subject, impressed and angered every professor, served detention with all members of staff, he had shagged in every broom cupboard they passed. He had spent as many hours stealing around the castle underneath the cloak as he had without it. It was as if the cloak was made for him and James; it was exactly the right size to fit them both. They could stride along with their backs straight, arm in arm, with the cloak just brushing the floor. 

Voldemort, it would seem, had discovered one of the school’s secrets. Why on earth he had decided to hide a horcrux in the Room of Requirement was beyond Sirius. The genius mastermind behind the culture of terror suddenly didn’t seem as bright as they had been led to believe. They had really lucked out with the memory Regulus had acquired, the path in front seemed almost easy now, and of course he had James by his side which made him feel better than he had in ages. James didn’t seem upset about not having been included from the start, either, in fact Lily appeared to be much more peeved about it. 

“It’s Peter’s birthday next week.”

“Let’s not talk about the rat,” Sirius said irritably. He was sure James would pull strings until they ended up throwing Wormtail a massive surprise party with reinstated Marauder status as his birthday gift. It was a week until then, though, and James could drop it for now. He would no doubt have his hands full convincing Moony to let Peter back in, anyway. Moony never did forgive and forget. 

They had finally reached the seventh floor and the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. James giggled fondly at one of the trolls on the tapestry, it looked as if it was scratching its balls underneath the pink tutu, completely ignoring Barnabas’s instructions.

Sirius steered James away from the distraction and they walked to and fro, three times while thinking of the room they needed. Remus was fairly certain that it was the junk room they wanted, and knowing what it looked like, it would probably take ages to find the diadem.

The door appeared and they opened it and stepped through. James pulled the cloak off them and stuffed it underneath his jumper, another old Pride of Portree one that Sirius had once hexed to read Proud to be Pisspoor. Sirius groaned as he took in the proportions of the room. It was much larger than the Great Hall and the ceiling was almost as high. It was cluttered to a point of no return, and the rubbish was piled all the way to the ceiling. 

He muttered the metal-detecting spell and close to half of the objects in the room began humming. It sounded a bit as if the room was filled with millions of angry bees. James laughed at the exasperation in his face, then strolled off to the closest pile singing a quidditch chant. Sirius turned to a nearby pile and began rooting through it. They should have brought everyone along for this, they really could have done with more people.

It took them close to four hours to find it, which, all things considered, wasn’t that bad. James was the one who found the real deal, although both of them had pocketed several items of jewellery that bore a faint resemblance to something flashy that could be worn on one’s head. It was smaller than Sirius had expected, and it wasn’t in great shape. The stones and precious metal looked dull and there were one or two dents in it. It did, however, spout Ravenclaw’s house motto in tiny, barely legible letters, and if they had needed further proof then the malicious force it emitted would have been plenty. Sirius almost put it on his head to show off, but at the last minute he stopped himself. Voldemort might have been silly to hide it here, but the object itself might still be able to do damage all on its own.

“Well done,” he said instead, and James beamed proudly, then frowned at the object in his hand. There really was something repugnant about it, but the odd thing was that it was compelling, too. A bit like muggle Marmite, at least that’s what Sirius thought. 

“It was on the table over there, inside an old bird’s nest with a snake skeleton coiled up around it. I’m inclined to say Moony was right about Voldemort being a bit poncey.”

They had to be marginally more careful on the way out as it was close to dinner time and plenty of students were on the move. That just made it more interesting to Sirius, and he knew James felt the same way. It was good fun sneaking up on unsuspecting second years in the cloak, keeping exactly in step and breathing down their necks until they looked around to see if anybody was there. Sirius also couldn’t resist hexing a few Slytherins who had been friends with his brother. They fell satisfactorily across the Charms corridor like bowling pins and with blueish pus oozing out of all orifices. James giggled approvingly at the sight. 

They had to stop and provide a complicated password when they got to the trapdoor. They had collectively decided that too many people could get into the Shack, and that some precautions were in order. Hence the new password. Remus had also found the incantation of a rather clever detection charm, which they had put up in a few different places in the long tunnel. Anytime someone walked past this charm a little bell would tinkle inside of the Shack, and that way its inhabitants would always know when somebody was approaching. Sirius thought there was a real risk that it would just make them all more fretful and paranoid, but he had conceded that at this stage it was preferable to an ambush.

Marlene and Remus had gone to have a look at Little Hangleton, Voldemort’s supposed ancestral hometown, Lily was out seeing Peter, and Regulus had been left behind as he really couldn’t afford going out without the cloak anymore. He would be taking it to Malfoy Manor tomorrow, though.

Sirius and James showed him the diadem and he looked suitably impressed with how effortlessly they had gotten their third horcrux. Sirius thought the air in the Shack was thick with their doom now, trying to sleep here would be a nightmare. But he supposed that was why they had alcohol.

Sirius had a date with the tattoo artist at the end of Knockturn Alley and he set off after a quick meal. It was a big man who wore robes made from leather and who had his neck covered in what looked like horrific burns, but which could also have been a skilful tattoo. He didn’t speak at all (Sirius was hoping he’d open his mouth one of these days so that he would know if the man was missing his tongue or if he just chose never to speak) and he always looked ravenous whenever Sirius got his top off and laid down on the chair indicated to serve as the big man’s canvas. Even Sirius could admit that the man was a bit frightening, but surely that was part of the fun? 

Mundungus was the one who had recommended him to Sirius, and nobody could argue that he wasn’t a proper artist with his bewitched needles. The flaming phoenix on Sirius’s back was downright pretty. This time around, Sirius explained that he wanted fingerprints, as if a woman had grabbed his wrists until they’d bruised, leaving the groovy patterns of fingertips, thumb on the pulsepoint and the other four on the outside of the wrist. The tattoo artist looked as if he thought Sirius was mad, but he refrained from commenting. He did some sketching with his wand in thin air, and Sirius watched and gave his opinion without being asked to do so. Underneath it all, Sirius was sure that the big bloke rather liked him. 

When they were in agreement on the design, Sirius laid down and enjoyed the feeling of warm hands and a painfully sharp implement on his wrists. He almost found it arousing, which probably wasn’t a good sign if he wanted to survive past the age of nineteen. The pain felt right, though, and as he closed his eyes Sirius sent Dorcas a fond thought. She would have chastised him for doing this, would have teased him for his bad taste in tattoo designs. She had been fearless, however, and he was equally certain she would have asked if she could come along to watch. If he kept his eyes closed, he could almost sense her in the room, maybe bending over to get a good look at how the needle pricked holes in him, but also looking at everything in the room. There were discarded mannequin parts everywhere on the walls and ceiling, all displaying different tattoos, most of them with magical properties. There were also some frankly terrifying metal instruments with plenty of sharp edges on display, none of which Sirius was able to look at for too long anymore thanks to his foray into the Lestrange’s cellar. 

There was a rough clap on his shoulder and Sirius’s eyes flew back open. They were a little wet, but he could easily blame that on the needles. He had a look at his new wrists as the other man watched, disinfecting his needles with caressing hand movements. Underneath the blotchy irritation the new look was haunting, which he supposed was what he had wanted. It looked like someone had held on tightly but had been forced to let go.

“What do I owe you?” he asked finally. “Same as last time?”

There was a grunt from the hulk of a man. Sirius got out a fistful of coins and counted them quickly. He needed to go find his motorbike now, it had been left on its disillusioned lonesome in that dingy alley behind their old house in Mile End for too long and he was eager to see it again. 

“Until next time.”

Knockturn Alley was quite dark even though the nights were getting brighter and brighter. Sirius was dressed in muggle clothes, which was always tempting fate when in Knockturn, but they were all black which should help. He drew looks from a group of witches who were skulking around the magical butcher’s shop, but everybody else on the street was eager to keep their eyes on the cobblestones. He disapparated further up the street and appeared right next to his precious Black Beauty. Remus had referred to it as the Black Death the other day, which Sirius thought unjust. Then again Remus had been tetchy around him all week.

He disillusioned himself and jumped on top of his beauty. It ignited easily and he relished in the smell of petrol and the rumble of the motor (he could’ve made it go on magic rather than petrol, of course, but muggle petrol smelled so good). London grew tiny underneath him and he had to put up a stasis charm around his head and torso to stop the assault of cold air. The weather was edging ever closer to summer, but this high up it might as well have been midwinter. 

It took him just shy of two hours to reach Hogsmeade. He touched down in the close behind the Hog’s Head next to the bins; a part of town he was intimately familiar with. There was a yelp from behind a particularly ancient looking dustbin, and to his great surprise and mirth his eyes met with old Aberforth, tightly entangled in a deranged-looking lady with spindly arms covered in bracelets, a great number of flimsy and sequined shawls on her shoulders and thick glasses that made her eyes look enormous, even in the inadequate light behind the inn.

“Well, well, well,” Sirius said happily as he turned the motor off, “what an unexpected pleasure it is to see true love on a night like this. You really shouldn’t feel you have to hide it away, you know.”

“I just lodge here, young man,” the woman said. Some of the sequins had gotten badly tangled in Aberforth’s long beard and Sirius watched as the two tried to uncouple. At one point one of the woman’s bracelets got stuck in the tangle as well, and Sirius muffled his laughter behind his hand.

“Not thinking of stashing that thing behind my bar, are you?” Aberforth said angrily when his beard was finally freed. Sirius was putting the usual charms on the bike.

“How’s Hector?” Sirius asked pointedly. The two had a fierce staring match, and the woman gazed at them both, eyes enormous and oddly cloudy. 

Aberforth grunted, which Sirius took to mean defeat, and then the bartender began walking back towards the door of his inn. Sirius could see something yellow and purple glitter in his beard as he passed, and he hoped dearly that all the locals would notice it too when they were served. Aberforth with a human woman was something worth ribbing him about, even if the woman in question did bear a striking resemblance to a dragonfly.

“Did you say your birth month was February, dear?” the dragonfly said in a carrying whisper. She was trotting along after Aberforth. Sirius caught a strong whiff of sherry as she went past him. “I happen to know that Venus is in a rather interesting position during that month. Now if you’d just let me take a look at your palm, I believe I can be of great assistance to you…”

Sirius turned on the spot with a blissed-out grin on his face and promptly hit his head on the low ceiling of the passageway to the Shack. Nothing could make him stop laughing tonight, though.


	75. Tender is the day the demons go away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Tender" by Blur.

Regulus was settling into his new life in the Shrieking Shack. It was infinitely more habitable now that a witch who knew her way around household spells had moved in with them, although the space was rather cramped in the evenings when everybody was at home. 

Potter had done something with the pipes that made the water flow better, which was a relief when you needed to take a bath. There were six of them for the one bathroom, made even more annoying as both Potter and Marlene took ages in there, but that was a small price to pay if it meant plentiful clean water. Potter’s wife was unsurprisingly in charge of the food, and it felt quite odd to be served three good meals a day. Regulus had gotten used to prolonged periods of nothing but toast and irregular amounts of greasy muggle take-away. He’d gotten most of his nourishment from the rather tasty muggle beers Sirius had kept them stocked with, and he hadn’t really realized how little he had been eating before now.

He did still feel on edge with the five Gryffindors he was living with. They hadn’t started to treat him badly, but he couldn’t help but think that it was coming. He’d done terrible things, after all, and they must all know that. None of them knew all the details, although Sirius had gotten a few stories out of him. Lupin had seen him kill a man, though, and he was sure they all despised him for what he had been a part of. 

Some days Regulus could barely look at himself in the mirror, and he was glad that all the ones in the Shack were cracked and damaged. It helped. The Dark Mark burned a few times a week, and every single time Regulus felt that awful thrum in his veins, the jerk at the back of his neck like a marionette that was misbehaving. His body wanted to apparate and his mind felt sicker and sicker every time it happened. If he ever saw the Dark Lord again, he would probably die on the spot, spontaneously combust before the Dark Lord managed to utter the killing curse.

Other times he found himself feeling almost human again. Sirius was back to teasing him in that way he had gotten used to when they were young, and when it didn’t fill him with melancholy it seemed to provide him with a pleasing type of indignation; he found himself able to talk back as if they had gone back to happier times. 

Lupin was moody and waspish because of Sirius and Pettigrew, but Regulus had grown so used to his presence that he still found himself at his most comfortable whenever Lupin was around. He didn’t have to speak to him, actually he preferred not to, but his proximity calmed Regulus down and made him feel as if he was in the right place despite it all. 

Regulus opened one of the gates carefully, just enough so that he could squeeze through, and entered the Malfoys’ property. He stuck to the grass as he always did, mindful of making a noise. He performed his customary ‘homenum revelio’ spell and to his delight the house was empty but for one person today. He knew that Abraxas Malfoy’s wife Eternelle was frail and had been poorly for at least a couple of years. She was probably the only one in, together with a house-elf to take care of her every need. 

Regulus entered and headed for the library, threading as lightly as he could. Surely the most natural place to hide a diary would be in a library. It irked him that Sirius and Potter had gotten the diadem so effortlessly. Regulus had spent probably a hundred hours in Malfoy Manor already without success, and those two had just waltzed into some secret room of theirs and found what they were looking for. 

Then again it was because of his foresight that they had known what to look for and where. He owed Kreacher a big thank you, come to think of it.

Regulus had always liked Potter the best out of Sirius’s friends (he was from a half-decent background, after all) but that didn’t mean that he’d ever liked him. He seemed like the type who did well in school, well in life generally, but who was utterly naïve and possessed no common sense. In other words, someone who it was easy to take advantage of and therefore someone who was to be despised. Admittedly, Potter had surrounded himself with people who could weigh up his own enormous flaws. Lupin was certainly street smart and from what Regulus was able to tell the new Mrs Potter was the same. Lily. She had requested that he call her Lily.

Lily wasn’t bad at all. She had been built up by his brother and by Lupin, but so far she was exactly like they had said she would be. Her lack of knowledge about pureblood families and certain wizarding customs was to be expected, but other than that she really didn’t seem to have any obvious gaps in her knowledge. He had heard her debate the most likely outcome in this year’s quidditch league with Potter and Sirius, complex theories on protective enchantments with Lupin, and the newly introduced laws on cross-species transfiguration with Marlene. She did seem to have a bafflingly comprehensive grasp on magic for what she was. He was carrying around a sample of her potion brewing skills around his neck even now. On top of not being stupid, she was also surprisingly easy to spend time with. Regulus had expected it to be awkward; what would you talk about with someone from a muggle background anyway? It hadn’t been a problem yet. She was also quite funny (less offensive than Sirius and cleverer than Potter) and she wasn’t overbearing or annoying. 

He’d kissed her hand in greeting that first night, and although it hadn’t felt clean at the time, he was glad he’d done it. It had been a sort of final test, a test for himself and for her. He had managed it without retching, without a strong reaction of any type. And of almost equal importance; the fact that his lips had touched her hand had not been thrown back in his face by her or by any of the others. It was a test they had all passed, he thought.

His experience with being in the same space as Marlene was more paradoxical. He was embarrassingly attracted to her even though he knew it would lead him nowhere. It couldn’t even go anywhere, even if she were to show interest in him, but of course she never would. The way she’d moved on top of Sirius at the tender age of fourteen was burnt into his retinas, however, and he couldn’t stop that memory from resurfacing whenever she spoke to him. He knew how disrespectful it was to think of her that way, but he’d never seen anything as real as her, and he kept wondering what it would be like to be so alive. Of course, it also made him miserable as it forced him to remember what she had been to his brother. But she kept resurfacing, and he couldn’t help but wonder…

Regulus looked around the library with detatched curiosity. He’d searched the desk in here before but had never taken a close look at the shelves. It was a large room and surprisingly airy, as if the Malfoys’ didn’t quite have enough books to fill such a large room. The windows were tall and thin and looked onto the garden. A peacock and two peahens, all albinos, were pecking in the grass quite close to the window. There were also white tulips in neat rows, and he thought they might be a magical variety as they all swayed in sync as if caught in a leisurely dance.

Regulus walked up to the first bookcase, but he couldn’t feel anything dark around there. The next shelf was some distance away, interspersed with unnatural-looking plants and dainty chairs with too much upholstery. There were a couple of books that had a certain something about them, but they turned out to be rather morbid magical novels about muggles and their fondness of incest and auto-cannibalism. Regulus shuddered and put them back.

The next shelf felt a lot more sinister. Regulus didn’t even want to touch the books now, it felt as if something bad would happen if he did. He began pulling out the volumes that felt the most powerful. _A Gardener’s Guide to Carnivorous Plants_ was bound not in leather but in something that burnt like nettles when he touched it and left his palms with mild burns. _The Sword-Swallower’s Wife_ nibbled harshly at Regulus’s fingers, and he struggled for a full minute with closing it and putting it back on its shelf. A book with no name or author started bleeding when Regulus had a look at it; heavy scarlet dripping down on the white, plush carpet until he’d put it back in the case. Regulus cleaned it up as well as he could, but household spells had always been Kreacher’s territory and he had never learnt more than the basics. Hopefully the Malfoys’ wouldn’t be able to guess that an intruder was responsible for the bloodstain. 

Next, he pulled on a small, blue book that was on the lowest shelf. It triggered a hidden mechanism in the bookcase, and suddenly the whole case spun 180 degrees and a new set of shelves was revealed. The blue book was still there on the lowest shelf, Regulus could now see that it was called _Alternative Realities or: Being in Two Places at Once_. The objects on the shelves were much sparser now, and not all on this side were books. There were a few human skulls, one with a sign saying ‘muggle barmaid, 1911’ and another that was a dull indigo colour with a jagged hole on the side. There was a set of pure white peacock feathers and a collection of shiny magical insects pinned to a board (Regulus could tell they were magical as they were still wriggling feebly, even with pins stuck through them). There were several envelopes, many smelling of perfume and indicating that they might contain love letters, perhaps scandalous ones old Abraxas used to blackmail their authors with. And there, finally, was a diary. It was small and black and a bit bent in the corners. It stank of dark magic, and Regulus’s hand shook as he extended his arm and grabbed it. 

The feeling of it in his hand was horrible, like it was full of unsavoury secrets waiting to eat you alive. Regulus performed the gemini spell and put the untainted, powerless version back on the shelf. He wouldn’t be surprised if the atmosphere in the whole room changed now that he was taking the horcrux away. He wondered if Lucius would notice. He put the diary in his robe pocket and bent down and pulled the book that triggered the turning of the bookcase again. Then he sneaked back out. 

Regulus got all the way out of the grounds before the ambush. He had closed the gates and was just about to reinstate the complex enchantments that kept (most) unwanted visitors out when somebody tackled him from behind. 

“I knew it!” a man’s voice hissed in his ear, and Regulus struggled desperately, trying to get at the wand in his pocket, trying to perform wandless magic that was way beyond his capability, his wrists slipped out from underneath the cloak and were grabbed… 

“Incarcerous!” the man on top of him panted, and immediately thin brown ropes snaked themselves around Regulus’s wrists, binding them together so tightly that he thought the blood flow must have been cut off. “Expelliarmus!” the man continued in a more leisurely voice, and Regulus’s wand flew out of his pocket and into the hand of the enemy. The other man reillusioned himself and Regulus stared up at the man his brother had said was called Benjy Fenwick. The wizard was tall and fit with shiny black skin and hard and intelligent eyes. It was the same man who had almost caught Regulus once before. He should have known better than to come back here alone, he should have realized that this Fenwick would continue guarding this place now he knew that Regulus had business he was attending to in here.

The man tore the cloak of invisibility completely off Regulus and stuffed it harshly into his robe pocket. Regulus held his breath, Fenwick was putting it in the pocket the horcrux diary was currently in, but he didn’t appear to notice or care. The wizard straightened up and stared dispassionately at him for a few seconds, towering over Regulus with something rather malicious twisting around his mouth.

“What is your secret mission for Voldemort?” he asked, wand aiming between Regulus’s eyes.

Regulus stared back and couldn’t think what to say. Should he tell Fenwick everything? He supposed he would have to. Before he had formulated his response, Fenwick had grabbed his arms and pulled him into a standing position. His arms were at an uncomfortable angle behind his back, it hurt rather a lot. 

“We’re picking someone up and then we’re going straight to Dumbledore,” Fenwick told him triumphantly. “He knows legilimency.”

Regulus shuddered and felt the iron grip behind him, strong hands around both of his awkwardly bent elbows. Fenwick twisted them both into apparition. 

To Regulus’s surprise they touched down right next to Hyde Park of all places. Rather a public spot to take a bound man to, but he didn’t have long to consider this or who they were supposed to meet here. 

He first noticed that there were two of Sirius to his right, one of them running and casting curses, the other one standing slack jawed some distance away. Fenwick appeared to be unwilling to let go of him, and Regulus could feel the hands gripping his elbows spasmodically. The Hobgoblin’s hit “Comet 220 to the Moon” was playing, and the singer wasn’t hitting the high notes all that well. Antonin Dolohov and Barty Crouch were right in front of him, Dolohov was sagging to the ground but Barty was looking from Regulus to the two Sirius’s with unnerving hunger. 

Barty looked deranged; gone was the boy Regulus had had classes with, the boy whose parents had never pressured him into becoming a Death Eater, the boy who was quiet and shy and had top marks in every subject, the boy who was still supposed to be in school…

Regulus struggled for his life in Fenwick’s grip, and then Barty aimed his wand.


	76. Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen.
> 
> Warning for character death.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Gideon said. He wasn’t loud, he never was, but he had finally spoken his mind. It was a horrible feeling.

“You don’t think this is a good idea?” Benjy repeated blankly. 

Gideon swallowed and looked helplessly into Benjy’s eyes. They went from confused to vexed and they seemed to flash like lightning behind the horn-rimmed specs. 

“Need I remind you that Regulus Black, the Death Eater, is hiding somewhere? Everybody else thinks he’s dead; he could be planning anything. People might die if I don’t find him! I have it on good authority that not even the Death Eaters he used to work with know that he’s still alive, and that means he’s doing something directly for Voldemort. It’s up to me to find him, and I was under the impression that you wanted to help?”

“I just – I’m sorry. What if it goes wrong?”

“You did fine last time, didn’t you? Black is probably staying at either the Malfoy place or with his brother. We need more information, and this Tonks woman is our only shot at the moment. Unless you think you can get Black to talk?”

Gideon blushed and didn’t reply. 

“Good, that’s settled then. You’ll come to the café when you can, and I’ll be waiting for you there. Now drink up.”

Gideon accepted the shot glass with the thick red liquid. Benjy was putting away a further dose in a miniature thermos bottle for him to bring along. Gideon knocked it back and winced as the transformation took hold of him.

“He’s really not right in the head, is he?” Benjy’s hands were holding Gideon’s wrists and Gideon got even redder in the face. This would get embarrassing very quickly if Benjy didn’t stop touching him. Maybe he could get away with changing with his back to Benjy.

Benjy’s fingers came to a stop, lightly encircling his wrists. His thumbs were on Gideon’s pulse, which was racing. Gideon looked down and Benjy released him. Dainty fingerprints remained where he had been held and Gideon tried to make his breathing less loud. 

He was handed muggle clothes, same as last time. Benjy was busying himself with a scroll of notes and didn’t speak. Gideon got into the clothes with a sense of foreboding. 

“Fabian sends his love,” Gideon said when he was by the door, ready to leave. Benjy finally looked up and smiled a little. 

“He’s coming with us tomorrow to tail Skeeter, isn’t he?” Benjy asked. Gideon nodded. “I’m glad. We’ve both missed him, haven’t we?” Gideon nodded again. Something tender-hearted entered Benjy’s face, something Gideon was rarely treated to. He began to tremble without really knowing why. “Good luck. I’m counting on you, Gideon.”

Gideon blushed again and exited in a bit of a daze. He almost splinched himself apparating, and he still felt completely out of breath when his feet hit the ground. 

“Uncle Sirius!” It was the little girl again; her hair actually went from bright yellow to black to pink as Gideon caught sight of her. She was opening the garden gate to the Tonks’s house and the whole place came into view as she did. Gideon plastered a smile to his face and walked up to her.

“You really should ask your parents before you open the gate for people,” he told her, and she pulled an ugly face complete with a pig’s snout at him. He stepped through the gate and felt her jumping at him in the same way Molly’s kids would sometimes do. Gideon wished he’d had Fabian’s skills when it came to this; he recognized the behaviour as something children did but he had no idea how to respond. The real Sirius probably knew how to be with the child, too. 

“What would you like for your birthday?” he asked her, suddenly remembering that they had talked about her upcoming birthday party on his previous visit.

“A motorbike, silly!” The girl pushed him, and Gideon stumbled to the side.

“I can’t really get you a motorbike,” he tried awkwardly.

“Sirius, what a surprise.” Andromeda Tonks was hanging out of the upstairs window, an owl on her shoulder. Her hair was done in elaborate waves and her eyes were piercing as they watched him.

“Hello,” he said uncomfortably. The girl was still pushing him and giggling as though it was the best game in the world. 

“I’ll come save you, one sec.”

Gideon waited and the child-sized pummelling continued. The door to the house opened and he sighed with relief as he stepped through.

Mrs Tonks was dressed to the nines again and Gideon felt out of his depth not least from the unsubtly disdainful look she gave his outfit. The little girl jumped over the threshold with a roar like a lion and Gideon flinched despite himself. This was not going great.

“Go to your room, now, Nymphadora. I want you to draw a picture for your uncle Sirius.” Her voice was incredibly commanding, and despite the commendable sanity in it Gideon was strongly reminded of Bellatrix Lestrange. The child predictably whined and mother and daughter fought a fierce battle of wills as Gideon stood next to them, feeling wholly out of place. Eventually the girl relented and her stomping up the stairs could be heard all the way up, although it did sound as if she stumbled and fell on the last step.

“In here,” Andromeda continued in her commanding voice and this time he was led into the kitchen. She indicated the chair furthest in and he sat down on the edge of his seat. She began boiling water without asking if he wanted tea or not and he watched her awkwardly. She didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood this time around. He also felt paranoid about sitting with his back to the window and the street, what if somebody sneaked up on them? But then she sat down facing the window herself, and he accepted that he would have to entrust it to her. She wasn’t supposed to be a Death Eater sympathiser, after all. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, then?” she asked as she poured hot water over his tea strainer. It smelt of rose hip. 

“I think Regulus is alive,” Gideon said, heart in his throat. Benjy had decided that this was the right way to go about it, although Gideon strongly disagreed. “I was wondering if you’re in touch with Narcissa at all? Maybe he’s living there.”

“Cissa?” she repeated with a condescending half-smile. “Now what makes you say that?”

“I think I saw him outside of the Malfoys’. I was on a job gig, you know.”

Andromeda stared calculatingly at him and was silent for quite a while. Gideon fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. Sirius had said that both he and Bellatrix had received lessons in mindreading, hadn’t he? Did that mean Andromeda had had them too? Was she performing legilimency on him right now? Why else would she stay silent for so long? He really wanted to look out the window now, or to the door on his left. He couldn’t show her how scared he was, though. He thought he could hear something move, surely there wasn’t anybody in the house but the little girl?

“Well, this is interesting.”

Gideon’s head snapped around and his eyes met with the real Sirius. He was casually leaning against the doorframe, wand in hand. The nonchalance was slightly spoiled by how hard he was breathing, he had clearly run to get here. 

Gideon lifted his hands slowly above his head and Andromeda’s smile turned into a dangerous sneer. 

“Expelliarmus! I think I know who it is, I’ll take it from here. Thanks for owling me, Meda.” Sirius caught Gideon’s wand and pocketed it.

“You were much quicker than I thought you’d be.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment this once. Up you come, fake Sirius.”

“I expect you back here when you’ve sorted this out,” Andromeda said haughtily and took a sip of her tea. She seemed supremely unbothered by the whole thing, and yet Gideon couldn’t help but think it was all an act.

“Will do. I’ll bring the bike, give Tonks junior a reason to liven up.”

“Don’t you dare, you little shit.”

Sirius’s face split into a grin and he waved his wand hand almost lazily to herd Gideon out of the room. Gideon stumbled along, fumbling with the doorknob to the front door. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he stepped out. There were flowers in bloom everywhere and there was the tip of a wand poking him in the back.

“You actually thought you could get away with being me, dressed like this?” Sirius asked him quietly. They walked back out to the street, Gideon first and Sirius straight behind him. Then Sirius turned him around, wand jabbing him in the neck. They stared at each other for a few seconds.

“Bloody hell. Fabian?” Sirius’s intense eyes were forcing him to keep eye contact, and he appeared to be thinking quickly.

“Gideon,” Gideon said, and yes, he was aware that it wasn’t his place to be annoyed when Sirius was the one who had caught him disguised as Sirius, but was he really not able to tell the twins apart? After everything they had…

“I know, just checking it’s really you,” Sirius said with a disarming grin. “Figured a Death Eater would’ve gone with the name I offered him.”

“Right,” Gideon said guardedly.

“So…” Sirius poked him experimentally in the ribs with his wand. Gideon chewed worriedly on his bottom lip. It felt different, but then it wasn’t really his lip, he supposed. Sirius was watching him much too intently for his liking. 

“Fuck it.” Sirius took his wrist and pulled him into a small close that led off from the alley they had used for apparition. There, tightly wedged between two brick houses, Sirius pushed him with his back first into the wall. Gideon stared in shock.

“Can I kiss you like this?”

Whatever Gideon had expected to happen, from Sirius killing him, torturing him, or simply laughing at him for being bad at impersonating him, this was not it. Their identical bodies were pressed together, and Sirius was already letting his hands skim over Gideon’s arms and waist. Except, of course, they weren’t really Gideon’s.

“Ok,” Gideon said reluctantly. He was tempted to say “are you mad?” or “how perverted are you?” but of course he already knew the answers to those. Sirius leant in ravenously and caught Gideon's bitten lip for himself, hands immediately going places that were utterly private, but soon he was laughing into Gideon’s mouth instead.

“Fuck, I’d need a drink for this. You owe me one, though.” Sirius stepped away from him and gave him another curious once-over. Gideon breathed heavily and leant back against the wall. He felt quite faint. Sirius took his hand and seemed to inspect the fingerprints there, then the matching ones on his own wrist. “Wild. This Fenwick’s idea?”

“Yeah,” Gideon admitted. “I’m meeting him in a muggle coffee shop in Paddington, should we go there?”

“Sure,” Sirius said with a shrug. “I’m keeping your wand until you’ve explained yourself, though.”

Gideon nodded unhappily. He wasn’t sure Sirius would accept the explanation for this as Gideon barely understood why he was doing this himself. 

“Where in Paddington?”

“It’s right by Lancaster Gate,” Gideon said dully. 

“OK.” Sirius grabbed his arm and twisted them into apparition. Gideon landed hard on the ground facing Hyde Park. There were plenty of people about, it was a fine day after all. Sirius had taken them almost into a hedge, and they drew some curious looks as they stepped out onto the pavement, arm in arm as Sirius seemed reluctant to let go of his quarry.

To his surprise Gideon recognized a Hobgoblin’s tune which was drifting over from the park. He supposed the weather was nice enough for outdoor concerts, but Hyde Park had plentiful muggle visitors and he wondered if the muggles could hear the wizarding band, or if there were enchantments in place that kept them from hearing and seeing them. The pavement itself actually seemed to vibrate with the music. 

Just then, two men who were clearly wizards exited through a gate from the park. One had a Hobgoblin’s hat on and they both wore summer robes. Unfortunately, the wizards were Antonin Dolohov and a straw haired boy Gideon likewise realized had to be a Death Eater. There was a crack of apparition, and Benjy appeared holding onto a struggling boy who looked almost exactly like Sirius. Gideon’s eyes widened in shock. The Death Eaters had stopped dead in their tracks, taking in the four unlikely people in the street in front of them, and Sirius had suddenly let go of Gideon and was firing spells that whizzed past Benjy and his captive. His aim was true and he hit Dolohov square in the chest. The straw haired boy beside him dodged the second stunner though, and something manic crossed his face as he aimed his wand. He was aiming for Sirius, Sirius who was running towards him, but suddenly changed, wand pointing at Benjy and the wizard that looked so much like Sirius instead. The wizard in Benjy’s grasp was struggling, desperately fighting the hold on him, bending over to try and push him off…

The curse hit Benjy square in the chest, and then he exploded. 

There was a mad roar of triumph or anger coming from the Death Eater who had cast the curse, but before he was able to fire off another one, Sirius had tackled the bloody mess of a wizard Benjy had been holding, and he apparated away, both bodies twisting at a strange and almost horizontal angle. 

Gideon aimed his empty hand at the remaining Death Eater, trying to force the words ‘Avada Kedavra’ out of his mouth. Sirius still had his wand and Gideon didn’t know any wandless magic. The insane eyes stared back at him for a second, then he bent down and got hold of Dolohov. They were both covered in bits and pieces of Benjy. There was another crack of disapparition, and Gideon was alone.


	77. All that I feel for or trust in or love, all that is gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "The Last Day of Summer" by The Cure.

Peter had received a letter from Moody earlier in the day, written in nearly indecipherable code, telling him that he was excused from the week's reconnaissance missions but that he was expected at Headquarters on Saturday. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, especially since he had only seen one other Order member since the wedding.

Peter’s fingers were fumbling with the tiny glass bottle around his neck. He’d almost dropped it, twice now, and he couldn’t quite remember what Lily had said it was. It was important, though, had to be. Or was giving it to him just something Lily had used as an excuse to come see him?

She had asked him where he had met Beula, and he had told her a little bit about it. He needed to talk to James though, not Lily. Had James forsaken him?

Lily had asked him what birthday cake he would like. He had suggested a Victoria sponge, and Lily had promised she’d even make her own strawberry jam, just for him. That had to mean something, right? His birthday was less than a week from now. And Lily was making a cake for it. 

“What’s that around your neck?”

Peter started and looked around. He was in his attic bedroom in his mum’s house, seated at his childhood desk and with some empty parchment, a quill and ink in front of him. The letter to James wasn’t manifesting itself, and he’d probably been sitting here for some time. He patted the front of his robes nervously; the bottle was a flat little thing and it was well hidden. Did he need to hide it from his girlfriend? He didn’t think he much wanted Beula to be his girlfriend, anymore.

Beula moved into the room and sat down on his bed. Her purple hair was piled on her head, braided but the towering effect was definitely aided by magic. Peter could see her wand sticking out of her hair, impaling the creation from the side. Her lips were painted a dark red, her flawless skin was milky and dramatic, and she was wearing glasses for once. Peter knew she really needed them, but she had a habit of neglecting to wear them. The number of times Peter had had to read the menu for her in pubs and restaurants was staggering.

“Are you going to tell me what’s happened? Is something up with your friends?”

Peter looked down at his hands. He’d put them in his lap in an attempt to stop playing with that little bottle Lily had given him. 

“They’ve been mean to you, haven’t they? Wasn’t one of them supposed to get married around now?”

Peter sniffed and moved to close his open window. Bloody pollen.

“Maybe you’d like to spend some more time with my friends instead, hmm? I’ve got several who’d love to meet you. I like you a lot, Peter, and from what I can tell your friends really aren’t treating you right. How many times have they even invited you to tag along these last few months? How many times have they come to visit you? I know they were great people when you were all still in school, but Hogwarts doesn’t last forever. I think it’s time for you to broaden your horizons, to spend time with people who actually appreciate you beyond childish escapades.”

Peter finally looked up. Beula’s eyes were difficult to read, they always were. Funny how she’d forgotten ever having been to James’s wedding. He must have cast his spells with great finesse. 

“Let’s have lunch together at the Leaky tomorrow. You’re working, aren’t you? Half one alright with you?”

Peter nodded and Beula smiled and got up. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then she left. Peter was alone again, alone with his thoughts. 

After a while he thought he could hear his mother come in. It sounded as if she’d brought company, old or new friends from the pub. Peter didn’t feel inclined in the slightest to go and find out.

His morning shift at Quality Quidditch Supplies went by in a blur. Customers were on the decline these days. People still bought brooms, but nobody dawdled in the shops anymore and the window shoppers were few and far between. There were just two shoppers that morning; a mother buying her young daughter her first broom and a former Puddlemere United player who needed broom polish. Peter felt a dull throb of excitement as he served the PU player, who was nice and chatty and not at all like celebrities were supposed to be like from what Peter had read in the papers. Puddlemere United also happened to be the team James supported, and for a glorious few seconds Peter thought smugly of how he would tell this story to James, all casual like. Then he remembered James wasn’t speaking to him.

Peter stared wistfully after the broad-shouldered player who waved cheerfully at Peter as he exited the shop. Peter thought he had been a beater in his day, it was even possible that Peter had seen him play. James’s parents had been good like that, had invited James’s three best friends to come along to games most every time they took their own son. Spending time at James’s house or tearing up Diagon Alley with the Marauders had been the highlight of his summer, every single school year. 

The Owner was busy in the stock room, which was becoming a more and more common occurrence. Peter wasn’t let in there, anymore, actually it had been months since he’d last been inside. The Owner had told Peter off for disrupting the storage system, and Peter had no idea what he meant by that. Everything in there was piled haphazardly on floors and shelves and it wasn’t as if anyone knew what was in there anymore. But even though he had felt indignant about it at the time he hadn’t cared enough to attempt to prove his innocence to the Owner. This was only a job, after all. There were other things that mattered more.

Peter was almost ready to leave for his lunch break when the bell by the door tinkled and a scruffy, dirty wizard sneaked inside, moving close to the wall as if he was hiding from something. Peter stared at him in confusion and mild exasperation. It was the same man who had been here once or twice before, and Peter was sure he must be a criminal of some sort. He’d never caught the man in the act, certainly, but he was so shifty-looking he must at the very least be a shoplifter. 

The Owner appeared from the stock room, and Peter turned to him with some relief, ready to point out the scruffy man and to explain his predicament.

“In here, you fool,” the Owner hissed, but to Peter’s surprise the Owner was talking to the thief. The thief gave Peter a calculating look as he passed by and shuffled into the storeroom. Peter noticed that the big overcoat he was wearing (despite the heat outside) was bulky in odd places, as though he had already pocketed items in the shop and was storing them on his person.

“What -“ began Peter, but the Owner interrupted him before he got further.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your lunch break, Pettigrew?”

“Of course,” Peter said, staring blankly at the two men. 

“Well?”

Peter flinched and took his light summer jacket. Then he went out. 

He was barely out the door before he was met with Alastor Moody and Frank Longbottom, together with several witches and wizards in law enforcement robes. Peter stopped dead in his tracks. He felt dread and guilt drip from his every pore and he was immediately desperate to turn into the trusted rat and run away. Were they here for him? Did James think he had committed a crime and was he getting arrested for it? Or had Sirius called the MLE on him as a joke to make him suffer? Maybe they had found out about the animagus business?

“Stop what you’re doing immediately! Hands over your heads, and don’t even think about using your wands!”

The MLE personnel had moved inside Quality Quidditch Supplies as they shouted their orders, and Frank was standing in the doorway, holding it open. Moody had stopped in front of Peter. Peter stared in shock, then he slowly raised his hands.

Frank burst out laughing.

“Are you confessing to something as well, Pettigrew?” Moody growled. Peter shook his head violently and lowered his arms. He was shaking all over.

“You’re under arrest for suspected dealings in Dark artefacts, and for suspicion of collusion with the group calling themselves ‘the Death Eaters’.” 

The business-like voice coming from inside was interrupted by an uncouth voice shouting “gerroff me!” and then by the Owner, who sounded both scared and confused.

“Dark artefacts? Death Eaters? What, the scary fighters the papers can’t get enough of? You’ve got it all wrong; gents, my dear witches.”

“Oh really?”

“Really,” the Owner continued, and Peter was straining his ears to hear. Frank and Moody were watching him as they, too, listened. “It’s nothing Dark, I’ve just let Mr Fletcher, here, store some cauldrons and some silverware in my shop. He’s an old school friend of mine, completely honourable businessman as far as I’m aware. He does business with several reputable shops, he tells me. And I certainly haven’t done anything wrong, I’m just helping out a friend.”

“A likely story,” Peter heard somebody inside mutter, but Frank looked a bit uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know about any of this,” Peter said, it came out mostly as a squeak. “Truly!”

“Do you know Dung Fletcher?” Moody asked him, and Peter gaped and tried to remember, for the umpteenth time, what the Owner was called. Surely his first name wasn’t ‘Dung’, though? That must be the scruffy man and not the Owner.

“I’ve seen him in the shop once or twice before,” Peter said and he twisted his hands nervously, wondering if they would believe him. “Never heard his name, I just thought he might be a shoplifter or something. I’ve never heard or seen anything that could have anything to do with Dark magic, though.”

Frank and Moody exchanged looks, and through his own worries Peter thought that Frank, at least, was looking uncertain and a bit worried as well. 

“Have you ever noticed any other suspicious characters in the shop? Speaking to your boss, perhaps?” Frank mouthed the words ‘any Death Eaters?’ after, and Peter shook his head in reply. He was still shaking from head to toe. 

“Could it be that he’s just a small-time crook and not someone on the Death Eater food chain?” Frank asked quietly of Moody, who grunted angrily, as if annoyed that Frank had spoken so freely in front of Peter.

“There is a man called Dung who sells certain substances,” Peter whispered, as a sudden memory resurfaced.

“Dark substances?” Frank whispered eagerly.

“No, not really,” Peter wheezed and he twisted his hands until they hurt. “Muggle drugs and psychedelic mushrooms. I’ve never… I mean, I don’t use things like that myself –“

Frank and Moody exchanged yet another look over Peter’s head, and this time it was clearly wariness that passed between them. 

The Owner and the man called Dung were escorted out by the MLE, who were also carrying several boxes they appeared to have taken from the stock room. Peter stared wide-eyed at them.

“Lock the shop for me, will you Pettigrew!” the Owner said. “I daresay I’ll be back by evening.”

“Of course, Mr –“ Peter fell quiet. This was probably not the time to ask what the Owner was actually called. He was likely expected to know that detail by now. The four MLE officials disapparated their prisoners away and Peter was left gawping, still not sure about what he had witnessed. 

“Sir, something’s happened!” It was Frank, and he was pocketing an odd little device he had been holding to his ear. “It’s Alice, something terrible has happened outside of Hyde Park. Lancaster Gate end, we’re needed there now. Someone’s dead!”

Moody gave Peter an appraising look and Peter held his breath, wondering if he’d be taken along or not.

“Look out for my Patronus, Pettigrew. We’ll call you and the others if we need you.”

There were two cracks of disapparition and then the two aurors were gone. Peter stood there, staring, for several more minutes. Then he remembered that he was supposed to meet Beula and her friends. He sighed, but he locked the shop and started walking towards the pub. He wasn’t really in the mood, and he didn’t really know where he stood with Beula anymore. He hadn’t met any of her friends before, either, they had mostly met one-on-one in York, where she hailed from. This was not an ideal day for any of this, maybe he could tell her he had a headache and just go home instead. 

He wondered who was dead.

Beula was standing outside of the Leaky Cauldron, in a throng of people. Peter stepped into the shadows of a wooden cut-out of a hippogriff, which stood outside of Magical Menagerie, to watch. Beula was there with a young woman with fluffy white hair and protruding eyes Peter thought he had seen about town when he dated Marlene. Another woman Peter recognized, to his horror, as Alecto Carrow, a stocky mean girl who had been in his year and who almost certainly was a Death Eater. Yet another woman in the group was Fliss Goyle, the woman who had tried to recruit Peter for the Death Eaters. So these were Beula’s friends?

Peter sneezed.

Next thing he knew, his back was hit with a spell and everything went blank.


	78. I'm living for giving the devil his due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Burnin' For You" by Blue Öyster Cult. 
> 
> Bit of blood in the chapter.

The charms Remus had put up in the tunnel between the Willow and the Shack were triggered and both Remus and Marlene froze, hunched over books on curse-breaking James had nicked from the library. They could hear shouting from the tunnel, muffled shouting.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Marlene dug for her wand in panicked movements. Remus recognized the voice, though, it was a voice he would never not recognize, no matter how distorted by layers of earth and mortar.

“It’s Sirius,” Remus informed her, although admittedly his voice didn’t sound calm, not even to his own ears. Something was wrong, he could feel it, hear it. 

It took ages before the trapdoor opened, it seemed that the people on the other side had great difficulty with the password and with the accompanying wand movements Lily had devised. Finally, it opened, and Sirius and Regulus emerged, the former carrying the latter. Both brothers were covered in blood and dirt and the smell that came with it almost brought back something of the werewolf in Remus. Marlene gagged beside him, then she got up and rushed over to help. 

Remus moved over too and crouched down next to them. Regulus was mostly prone and shivering like he was in shock. His hands appeared to have been bound behind his back, but Sirius had already untied him. Marlene was checking his pulse and his heartbeat. Sirius was digging through his brother’s robes and came out with a small black book and the invisibility cloak, both bloody. He tossed them onto the floor as if he’d been burnt by them. 

“He’ll be okay, won’t he?” Sirius asked and he rose to his full height, towering over the others. Remus squinted up at him. The blood on him was still so wet that it was dripping from his clothes and his hair. There were odd bits that weren’t blood or dirt on him too, bits that didn’t look like they belonged to Sirius.

“I think so,” Marlene said. She was trembling too now, waiting for the inevitable. “Shock, or something.”

“Whose blood?” Remus asked.

“Fen – Benjy’s,” Sirius said. “He didn’t have to suffer. I’m sorry, Marlene.”

Marlene nodded as if she had already guessed it, smelt it. Then she burst into tears.

“I need to go back, Gideon’s –“ Sirius swallowed and didn’t finish the sentence. 

“Can you carry him to the bath first?” Remus asked, with a swift nod in Regulus’s direction. He didn’t trust his own magic at the moment, and certainly not Marlene’s. 

Sirius scooped up the body and carried him upstairs. Remus helped Marlene up from the floor and they took the stairs together. Sirius burst out of the bathroom as if he’d been spooked by something in there. Perhaps the bathroom mirror. Remus debated whether or not to tell him to clean up before he left, but Sirius was already edging past him and soon they could hear him crash down the stairs. 

“Be careful, will you?” Remus shouted after him. The trapdoor banged shut. Sirius’s animagus form should have been a cat, really, but then would nine lives have been enough?

“Help me get these off him, Remus?” Marlene was struggling with Regulus’s robes and Regulus appeared to be struggling half-heartedly against Marlene. He was in the cracked old tub and his robes were already colouring it a nauseating red. Remus helped, and the struggling died down somewhat. 

“Don’t worry, we’ve both seen your Dark Mark,” Marlene said. Remus doubted that was the main issue here, but he didn’t set Marlene straight and neither did Regulus.

They turned on the water and added soap, which bubbled and frothed with a reddish hue. 

“I’m alright now, you can leave,” Regulus said. He had stopped shivering and was staring intently at the bubbles. His arm was close to the surface, and Remus could just about make out the ugly dark skull, hideous even beneath the distortion of sparkly bubbles.

Neither Remus nor Marlene moved. Remus didn’t think it was safe to leave either of the two alone, so he stood there and bit his nails instead. Marlene had stopped crying in the face of the mission of washing Regulus, but she had not dried her eyes and the tears had left glittering stripes down her cheeks. 

“This is similar to when you and I first met,” Remus said suddenly, startling even himself with the attempt at conversation. Something tugged at the corner of Regulus’s mouth and when he looked up his eyes almost looked alive. 

Marlene touched her hand to the side of her face, and Regulus frowned at the gesture and touched his own. He scooped some water into his hands to clean his face. It wasn’t enough and Remus watched with mild worry as the boy drew breath and submerged himself in the water, rubbing viciously at his hair as he did. The end of the tub bloomed bright red for a few moments before the blood was dispersed evenly again and the jet-black head of hair of Regulus’s emerged; he was still breathing. 

Marlene reached over and pulled a towel from the overflowing rack; Remus was pretty sure it was Lily’s towel, but he couldn’t be bothered to rectify the situation. Regulus got up and stepped into the towel, cocooning himself from view within seconds. It was lucky there were so many bubbles in the bath, Remus suspected it would have looked as if they had slaughtered an animal in the tub otherwise. 

“Let’s get you a shot of whisky,” Marlene said kindly and she put her arm around Regulus to guide him back downstairs. Remus, who had no idea what to do with someone who was in shock or suffering from trauma, followed them and helped find a bottle. A drink was at least a versatile problem solver, not to mention a fast and cheap one. It probably wasn’t the long-term answer to anything, though. They handed the bottle to Regulus, who had curled up on the sofa in his big towel and with his hair a tousled mess, giving Remus yet another potent hit of déjà vu. 

Marlene had stooped down by the invisibility cloak and the little black book, and Remus followed her there, Regulus watching them over the back of the sofa. The cloak of invisibility, Remus noticed, was strangely devoid of blood now. It was as if it had repelled the liquid, it felt as fine and smooth as it always did, even though there was some blood smeared on the floor underneath it.

“What the fuck!” Marlene shouted, angry tears spouting from her eyes as she flung the book back to the floor. Remus snatched it up, and he could immediately feel that it was a horcrux. The curious thing was, it too was completely clean of blood. Remus opened it on the first page. There was neat writing there, deep red writing.

_A Fenwick, if I’m not mistaken? Pure of blood?_

“What the fuck?” Remus repeated, much more quietly than Marlene. She had stood up and was hugging herself violently, eyes glinting fiercely. Remus flicked through the pages before he, too, dropped it to the floor. Every single page bore the same message, and Remus was certain it was written in blood. Benjy Fenwick’s blood. 

“I need Voldemort to die,” Marlene said. “This won’t end until he’s dead, will it?”

“We’ll get him,” Remus said, watching her carefully. He wasn’t sure what he meant by that. They had never discussed it, never discussed what they would do once they had killed the horcruxes. There would be a mortal man there, then, a deadly and insane one still set on gaining absolute power over Britain. If they succeeded in their quest they would be faced with a choice Remus did not wish to make. 

“And all his followers in jail,” Marlene continued harshly. “Not you, of course,” she corrected herself, waving vaguely at Regulus. “You’ve done your time.”

Regulus looked ill, but Remus could have sworn there had almost been hope there, right there in the eyes that should have been identical to Sirius’s. They were, too, when he felt things.

“Well done with finding the horcrux,” Remus said. 

“Thanks.” Regulus took a big swig of his bottle, then spluttered and shot up from the sofa. “I just realized my mother isn’t safe anymore,” he said, eyes going wide with fright. “Hold on, I…” 

“Sirius can probably -” Remus began, but Regulus scoffed at him and he did have a point. 

“I’ll go into the passage, summon the house-elf,” Regulus decided on the fly, and Marlene moved out of the way to let him get to the trapdoor. 

Remus watched him go, still wrapped in the huge fluffy towel, and Marlene took over the Firewhisky bottle. 

“I’m really sorry for your loss, Marlene,” he said eventually, once the only noises in the Shack were the gurgling pipes and liquor sloshing around in a bottle. Marlene made a small noise but didn’t say anything else. Remus could think of nothing to say, either. 

He wondered vaguely if he should write to his father to warn him, or at least to tell him that Remus was, as his father had already guessed, fighting Death Eaters. Then again, the Death Eaters were unlikely to get very far if they did choose to attack Remus’s father. Lyall lived alone in a small cottage with a big magical cellar and a large and unkempt garden. The cellar, which used to house Remus the werewolf on full moon nights during the summer holidays, was now filled with barely contained boggarts and bundimuns Lyall studied and wrote essays on. The garden, which used to house the lush and sprightly plants that loved his mother’s touch, was now mostly a swampland with hinkypunks around a large pond that had both kappas and grindylows in it. Last Remus had heard the different species had declared war on each other. He wondered vaguely who had won. Maybe Lyall had, in the end.

Regulus returned some time later with Sirius in tow. He was still unharmed, and it looked as if someone had used a half-successful ‘scourgify’ on his general being. 

“The wands are in my suitcase, somewhere,” Sirius was saying, and Regulus nodded and continued upstairs, towel now with a healthy layer of fine earth on it. “His wand got blown up,” Sirius continued for Remus’s and Marlene’s benefit while he unceremoniously tugged the bottle out of Marlene’s grip. “I’ve got some spare ones I liberated from some Death Eaters.”

“Handy,” Marlene said as she gratefully accepted the bottle back. 

“What happened? What are you going to tell Moody?” Remus asked. Sirius sank down on the floor by his feet. 

“I was able to feign ignorance. Moody won’t believe me for long, but this way I’ve got time to come up with a better story. Moody’s been given several eye-witness accounts that state that four people corresponding to my description were milling about outside Hyde Park. Three people who did not look like me duelled, and now one of them is dead.”

“If you could elaborate just a little bit?” Remus suggested patiently.

“Sure thing, love. I’ll set the scene, shall I? Stubby Boardman was on stage in Hyde Park on this fine day, wailing and screeching something dreadful. You’ll have to imagine it yourselves; I don’t do impressions. Regulus, having just gotten caught by Fenwick, was forcefully side-along’ed into the street outside said park. The real Sirius, yours truly, had gotten owl post from his cousin telling him there was somebody impersonating him at her place. I got there and was faced with Gideon, of all people. Well, not faced by him, faced by my own gorgeous mug, as it were. Lily’s been loose with the Polyjuice again. Mine’s a beautiful face, as you know, so I wasn’t too mad, but you should’ve seen what he was wearing. Ghastly choice of clothing. Gideon was meeting Fenwick later on, and Fenwick apparently was the mastermind behind me turning up as someone else at my cousin’s. So, we apparated there as well, got there a few seconds before Fenwick and Regulus. Got there at exactly the same time as Dolohov and some boy who might’ve been his minder or whom he might have been grooming. I never got the full story. I stunned Dolohov, and the boy liquified Fenwick.”

The air and the bravado seemed to go out of Sirius, and the Shack was silent. 

“How’s Gideon?” Marlene asked dully. Her cheeks were wet with tears again, and Remus hoped that Sirius regretted his little monologue now. 

“He’ll be…” Sirius fell quiet and his words rang hollow. He tried again: “Alice was already there when I got back, and I think she knows Molly Weasley, Gideon’s big sister. He’s with them, with his family.”

Marlene shuddered and cried some more. Remus marvelled at how insensitive Sirius could be. 

“I’m glad you didn’t die,” he said, and Sirius looked up and held his gaze. It was intense, much too intense, and Remus was desperate to look away. 

“Cheers,” Sirius said, and it felt like he broke the moment deliberately. “Have some more to drink, Marlene,” he continued. “Until we’ve killed the bastards there’s nothing else that helps.”


	79. Soon it will all be over and buried with our past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Of Monsters and Men's "Little Talks". 
> 
> Disturbing imagery and a dead body. From now on the chapters will all be a bit dark and suspenseful, just as a heads up.

Little Hangleton was a singularly unimpressive village if you asked Regulus. He could feel one of the last remaining shards of his identity grind into a soft and incomprehensible powder as he looked down upon the collection of houses from his vantagepoint by the Gaunt house. An insignificant muggle village that meant nothing to anyone, bar one dark lord. From here he could also see the only house of discernible importance (or at the very least wealth) for miles around; a manor house that admittedly had seen better days and that was disquietingly muggle in every way, save for the traces of cold magical murder that had left a trace decades ago. And behind Regulus and some dense yew trees was the only magical dwelling in the area; something ugly and tiny and unkempt that spoke of having housed wizards and witches whose magic was simply subpar, no rubbish. The Gaunt Shack was falling to pieces, was much too little for even a small family, and there was no proud craftsmanship or any former sense of grandeur in the woodwork at all.

Regulus’s erstwhile hero had been born out of the unfathomable alliance of a witch and a muggle. The witch had clearly been raised in deprived circumstances, and it was completely beyond Regulus how a pureblood family had not been able to live somewhere better. Even a pureblood from a poor family (there were a handful, and it pained Regulus to admit it) should have been able to fix themselves a better house than this. He dared say Lupin, whose status as a half-blood had undeniably hampered his magical gifts somewhat, could easily have made this abomination into something better. Lily could probably have done so faster and better than any of the purebloods amongst them (Regulus still wondered if she could be some sort of anomaly, his head would really prefer it if she was), and the less talented of Regulus old acquaintances would likewise have been able to do at least something to make this inhabitable. The Gaunts, it would appear, had lived in complete squalor, the whole family in one room and with no bathroom. Of course, it had stood empty for what must be decades, and without decent magic to keep up a building it would deteriorate. But to keep a family, presumably of several generations, in the same room… It made Regulus’s skin crawl.

The muggle father of the Dark Lord’s, on the other hand, had come from a beautiful house, clearly born to a rich family at that. It would have scarred Regulus deeply had he still been a follower of the Dark Lord’s, knowing that his muggle heritage was far superior to his pureblood heritage in terms of appearances, to see the stark difference in social status and to reconcile that it had been this way around. And this was without even acknowledging that the Dark Lord was a half-blood. A half-blood! Half muggle. Like Lupin, the Dark Lord had a comparable heritage to Lupin. 

Regulus stared at Lupin, first, then at Lily. They were working together to break through the first set of protective enchantments outside of the Gaunt Shack, having already performed several spells to deduce the layout and meagre innards of the house. Regulus felt sick with it all, with the emptiness inside, the emptiness left by all his pillars of knowledge being eradicated; why couldn’t it add up the way he had always thought it did? Why did he have to be the one who was wrong?

“I think we’re through,” Lily said in a hushed voice. Potter, who had been checking in on Sirius and Marlene (who were guarding the other horcruxes in the Shrieking Shack) in the mirror, put the little square away in his pocket and stepped forward, immediately pouring easy praise over his wife and his friend. Regulus followed him awkwardly, deciding on the spot that there was little need for him to pile a cordial compliment on top of that abundance.

They both stopped in line with Lily and Lupin, however, all four presumably with the same feeling that they were toeing a line of some kind, a line where some devious and near-fatal enchantment had once been erected. It was a stretch to call what the Dark Lord had used ‘protective enchantments’, but Regulus supposed that they had served as wards whatever their true nature would suggest. They had left traces, finely constructed, dangerous and morbid traces. Regulus clenched the wand in his hand tighter and poked a little into the air in front of him. It was a new wand, one made of beech. Out of the ones Sirius had had, it had worked the best for him, which had surprised him as he could vaguely remember trying out a beech wand on his first trip to Ollivander’s. He remembered that the wand he had tried out then had absolutely refused to perform for him, and that Ollivander almost seemed to find it amusing at the time. Whatever the reason, Regulus felt less anxious than he would have expected to with his new wand. It was almost as if it kept up a rapport with him, almost as if it was guiding him into something new. 

Potter sighed deeply from beside him and ruffled his own hair in a way that made both Lily and Lupin roll their eyes. Then Potter took a step over the invisible line they had all known to have existed. He punched up into the air in victory, back still towards them, and strolled up to the cottage. They all followed, nobody really letting their guard down if the squared shoulders and quick breaths was anything to go by. Similarly to the cave, Regulus felt as though he might well be walking to his death right now. He was careful to keep in step with the Gryffindors, though, careful to keep his nerve and also to prove himself. He could still do it for them, at least, if not for himself. 

Potter had stopped close to the door, wand outstretched, and Regulus could feel it as well. There was another layer here, different in nature to the ones that had required nerves of steel and a grasp on old theories, the ones Lupin and Lily had powered through together. 

“It feels like the one outside the cave,” Regulus said. Lupin nodded; lined face wary.

“Blood,” Potter contributed, presumably he had tried to check what they were up against and come to that conclusion as well, even though he hadn’t been to the cave. Regulus stared at the door; it looked rotten and discoloured and it had some rusty nails driven purposefully through it, but he couldn’t quite see a pattern.

Lily reacted first, her wand slashing over her left hand, blood spurting neatly right onto the door. Regulus stared at her in horror, his voice dying in his throat with the word ‘mudblood’ on his lips. He couldn’t believe her stupidity; it went without saying that _her_ blood couldn’t…

It worked. 

Regulus drew a shaky breath, staring at the old, battered wooden door that swung open with a hiss and a groan. The darkest of magical enchantments, invented by the Dark Lord himself, and her blood had worked. A muggleborn. Regulus didn’t think there were any foundations left in his mind that could crumble. His beech wand seemed to heat up just a little in his hand, like an impulse of some sort. Sometimes he dreamed that he could build new foundations, new pillars to hold his world aloft.

The newlyweds entered first, and Lupin gave Regulus a sad smile as they stepped through next, side by side. Maybe he had sensed what Regulus had been about to say to Lily.

It was dark and it smelled of death and of something sweet and poisonous. The floorboards creaked and Regulus stopped after just a few steps; there was no need for him to walk further. The single room wasn’t overly large, and the sparse furniture was lined along the shadows of the walls. Mostly it was shuttered kitchen cabinets and crooked wooden chairs. They had all stopped walking but there were still creaking noises, a distant rattling… Regulus could hear his own heartbeat and the wind outside.

“It’s in the middle, here- I can feel it.“ Potter was staring intently at the almost soft-looking floorboards. He had gone in the furthest, and in the inadequate light Regulus could make out his footsteps in the dust on the floor. Somehow, he seemed unbothered by the noises the house was making. Or was it all in Regulus’s head?

“Break it open? Do you reckon a simple severing charm will do it?”

“Merlin knows what it will unleash,” muttered Lupin, and Regulus rather agreed. There was a groan and a creak and Regulus shut his eyes for a full second, willing it all away. The smell was getting to him, he realized he was breathing through his mouth rather than his nose. 

“NO!”

Regulus’s eyes flew open; he didn’t know who had shouted. His eyes spotted something they hadn’t before, though: there was a corpse in the corner behind Potter. Regulus’s legs took him towards it, wand warm in his hand and there was light blooming at the tip. He wanted to bolt, but something was overriding all his usual instincts. Lily and Potter were bending over the damaged form, Lupin was hanging back somewhere. That much for Gryffindor, then.

It was Peter Pettigrew, Regulus realised, and he had been dead for some time by the looks of it. The light from Regulus’s wand was lighting up his bare, grey arm, and the shocking tattoo of a dark skull was clearly visible. Regulus’s eyes moved over the face, just to check. The eyes were open and empty, but they had clearly belonged to Pettigrew, there was no question about it. It looked as if it had been the killing curse.

Lily was hugging Potter, and Potter was crying, sobs shaking his body. 

“Riddikulus,” said a quiet voice behind Regulus, and Regulus jumped high in the air both at the voice and at the sudden disappearance of Pettigrew’s corpse. He was blinded for a moment, and the now superfluous light at the tip of his wand went out. He was face to face with what was undoubtedly the moon.

“Riddikulus,” Lupin said again, more forcefully this time, and there was a drop and a squelch and a melting ball of vanilla ice cream on the floor, a wolf lapping noisily at it.

Lily tried to laugh, but it was hollow, and the scene merely shuddered like a malfunctioning hologram. Regulus could feel the boggart’s attention switch to him, the rush of water appearing as a warning of what was to come, but Lupin seemed to sense it, too.

“No, here” he said decisively, the beast halting on the floorboards, tongue lolling out and its deranged, yellow eyes on Regulus. Lupin was next to him now, waving both arms as if to herd it, and suddenly there was a small bang and another floating moon, struggling in the air but moving towards the kitchen cabinets by the wall nonetheless. One of the doors were open, now, somehow Regulus had missed that even though he had heard the rattling. The cabinet door banged shut, taking the light with it, and Lupin locked it for good measure. 

“Lily,” Lupin said, almost begging, and Lily led her shivering husband to Regulus, almost dumping him onto Regulus before she moved up to Lupin and the middle of the floor. Potter touched his shoulder, and Regulus didn’t know what to do so he just stood there, uncomfortably aware of the grown man with the wet face next to him, wanting for Merlin knew what. He stared at Lily, instead, she was cutting up the floorboards. Neat rectangular bits of plank were lifted into the air, one after the next, and Lupin was peeking into the hole intently.

“That must be it,” he said, voice full of distaste.

“Don’t touch it!” Potter almost shouted from next to Regulus, and Regulus made to hit out at him for the sudden noise.

“I won’t, Prongs” Lupin said calmly, just as a small box came hovering out of the floor. “We need to open it to check, but that must be it, right? There must be a ring inside?”

Lily muttered something Regulus didn’t catch, and the box seemed to disappear, or almost at least. She must have turned it into glass. Regulus steadied himself, then touched Potter’s back, adding a hint of pressure to get him to move. They walked towards the see-through box, floorboards groaning and almost giving under their feet, and Regulus could see that there was a ring inside.

“Bag,” Lupin said, opening and holding out Sirius’s canvas bag underneath the box and the horcrux. It dropped neatly and Lupin held onto the handles gingerly, seemingly ready to fling it onto the floor if needed.

“Let’s get out of here,” Lily said. She took Potter’s hand and dragged him towards the door. Regulus followed, and as he passed Lupin and the bag, he thought he could hear a heart beating, a loud one that didn’t quite seem human. They stepped out into the forest that seemed to grow right up to the house, and Regulus had a last, furtive look into the depths of the Gaunt house. The kitchen cabinet rattled and sighed and he could have sworn there were waves clucking somewhere. Regulus closed the door with his wand and followed the other three towards the clearing where the country lane they had walked here on was. 

“I want to go see mum and dad,” Potter was telling Lily and Lupin as Regulus joined them. “Just go tell them I love them. And Peter, as well, do you want to come too, Remus?”

“We don’t really have the time,” Lupin said, hands clutching the canvas bag, and Regulus could feel the tension there. 

“Reckon I’ll be an hour, tops,” Potter said, leaning in to kiss Lily. Then he turned on the spot and there was a low crack as he disapparated. 

“I need to apologize, Remus,” Lily said suddenly. “I had a few dark moments before the wedding when I thought you might be a spy, that you might be working for Voldemort. I hope you can forgive me?”

Regulus glanced from one to the other. They were preparing for the worst, he realized, Lily and Potter thought they might perish before the day was up.

“I forgive you,” Lupin said, and his voice shook with emotion as if that was the hardest thing he had done today. 

“Thank you. I’ll go feed the cat, first, then I’ll meet you at the Shack.”

Regulus wanted to offer to come with her, just to make sure she was alright, but the impulse died on his tongue as she, too, twisted on the spot. He turned to Lupin instead, almost pleading. He needed help, needed to help, but the words weren't coming and his brains felt dulled. 

“Want to apparate together? Just in case.” 

“Yes please,” Regulus said. His neck was prickling with nerves and he could hear a gust of wind ripping into the yew trees behind him.

They had the last horcrux, now, but the kneazle was out of the bag. The Dark Lord had probably been informed by now that Regulus was alive, and there was no telling where this news would lead him. The Dark Lord was chillingly intelligent and there might be enough clues knocking about for him to put two and two together. There was Rabastan’s hidden memories, there was Kreacher who had drugged his mistress and taken her into hiding, there were the books Regulus used to read in the Central Wizarding Library, there were five missing horcruxes, and there were the six of them, hiding in plain sight in Hogsmeade. 

They still needed basilisk venom, but maybe Sirius and Marlene had found a way? 

And then what? Regulus glanced at Lupin’s face as he took his arm to disapparate. The worry couldn’t be hidden anymore, the mild and calm and patient wizard was losing it just like rest of them.


	80. Use all your well-learned politesse or I'll lay your soul to waste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Sympathy for the Devil" by The Rolling Stones. 
> 
> In the next chapters there will be character death, violence, blood, etc. I won't put anything more in the notes for fear of spoiling anything, but it will be on the same level as previous chapters in terms of explicitness.

Lily had to get mincemeat for the cat, and that was how she ended up going past the butcher’s on the way home. The butcher’s was next to the greengrocer’s, and they had the season’s first English strawberries on sale.

“Peter and his Victoria sponge,” Lily muttered to herself, selecting a carton of red berries for herself. She felt he deserved the best, especially after the day he had had. Well, he hadn’t really been dead, but the boggart in the Gaunts’ old cottage had been rather convincing. 

Witnessing a Peter branded with the Dark Mark had shocked her to the core; it had presented her with a thought she had never had herself. She had, during a few dark minutes now and then, entertained the idea that Remus might turn traitor, but never Peter. 

Her own shock had paled in comparison to James’s. She knew what had upset her husband so much about it too, knew that it wasn’t just the false and mercifully temporary news of Peter’s death that had affected him. James never distrusted his friends; he would easily trust the other Marauders with his life, and hers. He was inanely noble, and she was absolutely certain that what the boggart had latched onto was something James had buried, and buried deep. It had never been meant for his conscious brain at all. He had never knowingly distrusted Peter, he would kill himself rather than bring a thought like that to the surface. The boggart had had no such qualms, though. It had taken a fear borne out of recent events and showcased it for all four of them, and James hadn’t stood a chance of understanding that that image had come from his own mind. Peter Pettigrew, peer-pressured into turning traitor and then murdered, alone and scared and left to rot for days, none of his Marauders as much as coming to look for him. 

James couldn’t stand his fear of failing Peter, of failing any of them. 

Lily got back to Godric’s Hollow with two cartons of strawberries (one for the Shack, one for Peter’s jam) and Freya’s mince. Freya was sitting by the garden gate as Lily approached, wise yellow eyes on Lily and seemingly suggesting they had agreed on this time and place to meet. 

Meet they did, Freya clawing her way up Lily’s person as she laughed and tried to open the gate with her shopping and her wand filling her hands. Her hand was sore, too, the one she had sliced open to gain entry to the Gaunt house. Healing spells were tricky to get right.

“Sirius says hello,” Lily said, grinning as she realized that her opening line was to give the cat greetings from her husband’s best friend rather than from her husband. “James too,” she amended, “but you know that he loves you no matter what. Sirius is more fickle, and of course he’s the one who was cut from the same cloth as you, darling. We both know that, don’t we?”

Mince dispatched into Freya’s bowl with a flick of her wand, Lily cleaned up the strawberries by hand and set them to simmer with some sugar and water. She told Freya about the happy things as she did, and the difficult ones. She left the sad ones out; the muggle family that had been found dead in a forest not far from Hogsmeade, the death of Benjy Fenwick and the fright they had had in the Gaunt house. No need to worry Freya more than necessary. 

She told the cat about sneaking into Hogwarts underneath the invisibility cloak instead, and how that had made her feel like she was one of the Marauders. Then she told her about Voldemort’s protective enchantments, the relish she still felt for tearing them apart with her magic and her blood was probably obvious even to the cat.

With the aid of magic she was done with the jam in no time, and soon she was pouring her preserve into a glass jar on the counter. The phone rang, just as she was done, and she startled a bit at the noise. Her parents did call, but not often. Petunia had her number too, of course, but Lily thought it unlikely she would see reason to call until Lily’s 20th birthday next January. 

“Hello,” she said into the receiver. James would prank-call muggles, occasionally, and hopefully this wasn’t someone he had terrorised. 

“Lily, is that you? It’s your mother. I fear I’ve done something stupid.”

“What’s happened?” Lily kept her voice even as her heart began to race. 

“It’s about Severus, love. He came here, absolutely distraught and with these… There was a woman and she was supporting a man, but love, he looked dead, like he had been dragged through a warzone. Severus told me he had to get hold of you, that the two of you –“ 

“How did he find you? You were moved to the safehouse for a reason, I explained-“

“I don’t know what’s happening over there, Lily dear, but your father and I thought that what with the wedding over, it would surely be safe again for us to move back to our own house.”

“Mother!” Lily whisper-shouted, looking around wildly. 

“I know you and Severus had a falling-out, love, but this was an emergency, he told me so and of course I could see that myself. I had to tell him the name of your village. He told me that the dead man was Mary’s brother. Your little friend, the brunette?”

“It’s ok, I forgive you” Lily said distractedly, heart now hammering in her chest as if it wanted to break out. “Mum, you have to go back to the safe house, send a letter with owl-post addressed to James. I love you. Can you tell dad as well? I miss you both.” Lily drew breath but found she couldn’t continue. She had never explained that they were at war, had thought it was better they not know. She hadn’t even explained about the racism she had faced and continued to face, every year since she turned eleven. Her parents didn’t understand, but that was because she had never tried to explain, had always been certain it was better she handled it herself.

She put the receiver down and walked to the nearest window, one facing the street.

There were three figures out there, out in the open and the momentary sunlight.

Her eyes met Severus’s immediately, although he didn’t know it. He couldn’t see the house; she was sure he couldn’t. But apparently, he was able to feel it, or more likely feel the presence of the protective enchantments on the house, just like she and the others had, earlier at the Gaunt house. 

Severus looked desperate, his eyes dark like deep wells of mourning or regret. He wore more expensive robes than she thought she had ever seen him in, but he looked thin and sallow, like he hadn’t fared well health-wise with his new job. 

The woman next to him looked oddly detached, eyes and hair and skin all the same off-white colour. She was half-carrying a man, half being smothered by said man, and his body seemed to be dying hers a dark crimson wherever they touched. Even though Lily had only met the man once she instinctively knew it was him. Robbie Macdonald, Mary’s brother. 

As Lily watched through her window, undecided, Severus dropped to his knees in the street. Lily swore.

“I knew you would-“

Lily banged the gate shut behind her.

“You’re not coming in!” Lily hissed at him, wand in his chest but turning her attention to the other two and assessing the damage. “Who is she?” 

“I think her real name is Alexandria Lovegood,” Severus said promptly but calculatingly, trying to make eye-contact with her. Lily stared at a spot just above his forehead. “They were going to torture her for information, maybe have already, and I know she’s with your lot…”

Lily swallowed. There had been rumours about someone connected to the Order who was working undercover amongst the Death Eaters, leaking information. It was someone who hung around the younger crowd, Severus amongst them. It had all been kept under wraps in the Order for safety reasons, which of course meant that Lily knew with some certainty that it was Benjy Fenwick who had been the mastermind behind it. And Benjy had died, which must mean the informant had been left behind enemy lines…

“I thought she might have been somebody you know, a friend even,” Severus said, quietly and with that predictable tone that meant he had done a good deed for Lily, a good deed he would never have done because it was right, only would because he thought he might get her friendship back if he impressed her enough. Lily shook her head.

“But the other one is Mary’s brother,” Severus said. He worried with his teeth on his bottom lip for a second, weighing his words. “The Lestranges have had him for a while.”

“I can see that,” Lily said, and her voice shook despite her best efforts.

“I don’t know how much is left of him,” Severus continued, and finally there was a flash of remorse there, something of the boy Lily used to know, “I was obviously never involved in what they, what she… But he _is_ still breathing, so I thought…” 

He didn’t finish the sentence, and Lily’s eyes flickered towards Mary’s brother despite her best efforts. He was a mess, and she thought there seemed to be rather a lot missing.

There was only one thing she could do, not least because she owed it to Mary.

“Come here,” she said, reaching her hand out to the woman. She thought she had heard Marlene talk about someone called Lexie Lovegood, and when the woman didn’t take her hand she tried the nickname out. “Lexie,” she said, and the woman shuddered and tried to focus her eyes on Lily. “Walk through here, you can put Robbie down on a sofa or a bed, whatever you find. I’ll be right with you.”

Lily coaxed the woman through the garden gate, Severus watching intently. Lily wondered what it looked like to him, could he see a glimpse of the house as the people he had rescued passed through? She closed the gate, full attention back on Severus and dreading what would happen now. 

“I’m not aiming my wand at you,” her former best friend told her, but she didn’t lower hers. His eyes had that weird hunger in them again, the one she had always chosen to ignore because it made her uneasy. 

“I’ve missed you, Lily.”

He had always been a good liar, but she didn’t think he was lying now. His voice was low and almost cold, but not quite.

“I’ve missed you, and I’ve realized that I was wrong and that you were right. The last few years have been hell for me, and I’ve once more come to ask for your forgiveness. I need your help to find my way from here.”

“How touching.” 

Lily flinched. Those were not the words she had meant to say, surely she was not that cruel? She looked into Severus’s eyes, finally, and they were desperate for her. Panicked, too. They flickered to the side, to the man who was standing feet from them, calm and collected. Lily’s wand flew out of her hand before she had the chance to aim it at the new enemy. 

“Avada Kedavra,” Voldemort said, voice silken as he channelled a dangerous rushing noise with the colour green out of his wand and into the neck of Lily’s childhood friend. 

Lily was immobilised before her instinct to kick and scream set in, even before Severus had begun to fall. He hit the cobble stones with a sickening thud, face still turned towards Lily. His eyes were as black as ever, but they no longer needed her. Lily turned her eyes to Voldemort instead. She couldn’t move a muscle, but her body was being kept upright and in place. Her breaths were a bit constricted from the full body-bind and she could feel the weight of the little bottle she was wearing in a string around her neck, just underneath the lining of her jumper.

“I’ve been looking for you, Lily,” the lethal man told her, “ever since King’s Cross. Your courage piqued my interest, and I’ll admit this little scene has done nothing to quell it.” Voldemort eyed the corpse of his former Death Eater, then he looked around at the deserted, quaint little street as if he was expecting there to be somebody else around.

“Surely, the muggle was not able to walk?” 

Lily avoided the gaze that almost seemed to glow red, wondering if he was talking about Robbie. Was he the reason Voldemort had been able to find her? Had he followed Severus here? Or had somebody who knew where she lived turned traitor, after all?

“No matter. One will do for now. Morsmordre!”

Voldemort pointed his wand lazily into the air. The smoky green Dark Mark shot out, eerily bloated before it floated higher and out of Lily’s field of vision. 

“We’ve got some things to discuss, Lily, you and me.”

With that, Voldemort grabbed her arm and disapparated.


	81. Come play my game; I'll test you: psychosomatic, addict, insane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Breathe" by The Prodigy.
> 
> This is the most disturbing chapter I've written and I almost want to apologize for it. We're (finally?) getting Bellatrix's point of view. In case it's not clear, this chapter happens at roughly the same time as the previous two.

“I knew there was something you weren’t telling us,” Bellatrix explained victoriously. She shifted, knifepoint in between two ribs, and her beautiful face right next to Rabastan’s ugly one. He was shivering, stomach muscles rippling which wasn’t a great idea considering the knife. She licked some blood off his ear, just a few, innocent flicks of her tongue. He groaned as though he was in pain. “We’re nearly there, I can tell. Soon we’ll all know what you’ve been made to forget.”

Rabastan spat out some blood. He was naked and tied to an armchair of Bellatrix’s choice (silvery green upholstery and sturdy, oak legs and arms; a chair that was quite capable of taking a bit of roughhousing from tied-up bodies. Unlike the fine mahogany chairs, she was never using them for this again). They were in a room with powdery blue walls and some odd items of childhood memorabilia, the room in their home that had originally been a nursery. The cellar was for mudbloods and blood-traitors, the upstairs nursery was for any Death Eater who might need private lessons with her, or, more unusually, someone on their side who was suspected of being a turn-coat or of having been used by a filthy Order member, with or without their knowledge, and needed to be interrogated. Her brother-in-law was in a bit of a pickle.

His breaths were laboured, and he would occasionally pass out for seconds or even minutes, which was incredibly aggravating. Maybe it was a lack of sustenance, Bellatrix didn’t suppose he’d had food since they began this. 

“I’ll go get you something to eat,” she said, reluctance giving way to another stroke of genius, and she hugged him impulsively against his bonds, laughing into his torn neck. He began to cry again. “I’m getting Rodolphus as well, you two should share in the fun.”

Her robes danced around her as she exited, slamming the door behind her. The carpet was fat underneath her bare feet, thick and of such a dark red it almost looked black. The flat in Cheyne Walk was one of the best things about being married to a Lestrange; they knew all the good estate agents. The muggle who had lived here before them could still be viewed in the cellar, although the stasis charm had long since worn off and there was mostly just the skeleton left. She licked her lips in anticipation and tasted blood. Rabastan better pray that he hadn’t messed up her make-up. The staircase had a mirror on the side, and Bellatrix slowed down and studied her face as she descended. She was stunning, like always, the well-bred Black hair and eyes had come out at their finest in her. Her lips were bloodred and there was something scarlet on her cheek, too. Rabastan was going to pay for that. 

A tall man in a long dark cloak entered through the front door just as she reached the entrance hall.

“My Lord!” Bellatrix exhaled, immediately sinking to her knees, face turned up in reverence. Lord Voldemort smiled fleetingly at her, and Bellatrix found herself momentarily lost in his beautiful countenance. 

“You may rise,” the Dark Lord said silkily and quietly, and Bellatrix watched his hand intently as she rose from the floor with the grace of a Black. He’d extended his hand, just a little, almost as if to touch her with some of his long, white fingers. He didn’t quite touch her, unfortunately, but a girl could dream.

“Is Rabastan sufficiently softened up?” 

“He will be, my Lord,” Bellatrix said, licking her lips, “I was just going to bring Rodolphus to him.”

“Let me know what you find,” Lord Voldemort said, “it will be especially important if it concerns your cousin.”

“Of course, master.” Bellatrix felt her temper surge, zero to a hundred, and she clenched her hands as her chest heaved. If her cousin Regulus was still alive, if he was a deserter, a traitor… She would need to kill him. 

Lord Voldemort’s eyes were still on her, and she forced herself back to the present, even though all she wanted to do was to punish someone, anyone, make them hurt. But her Lord always came first; he was the only one who did.

“What of the muggle?”

“The muggle, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked. 

“Is he still alive?” Lord Voldemort asked, a hint of delicious danger in his tone. Bellatrix quelled an aroused moan.

“He is, my lord. I’ve followed your Lordship’s orders and kept him alive. The house-elf has been feeding him regularly.” Bellatrix wondered vaguely why her master wanted to keep the filthy scum alive, but mostly she just found herself staring longingly into those dark eyes. The Dark Lord had come to see the muggle once before, had told her he’d performed a spell of some sort on him to be able to track him. 

“I was expecting some of that childish Order to come here to rescue him,” her master finally divulged, and Bellatrix lapped it all up, every word he chose to share with her and only her. “It would be useful to know how your cousin managed to flee this place without disturbing the wards. Maybe his brother truly is alive and has betrayed us…”

“That blood-traitor is no cousin of mine,” Bellatrix roared, then tried to force her temper down again. The smile twisting the corners of her master’s lush mouth was too much, a test of her subordination and of her control. Merlin how she wanted… 

“You’ll be given more opportunities to prove what your old family name is worth,” Lord Voldemort said, a finality in his voice that signalled an end to the conversation. Bellatrix didn’t want it to end, she was too worked up, she needed him to keep talking to her, keep showing her how special she was, how much she meant to him. 

“I will have information for you tonight,” she said, “Rabastan will have his memories back soon, and then there’s the Order member I took from Diagon Alley, the one Skeeter has been trying to work on…” Bellatrix breathed in deeply, calmly, showing her master how useful she had been to him. That Skeeter woman hadn’t been able to make the little Order member switch sides, not even after months of working on him. Bellatrix had plucked him neatly from the street, had left him in the cold and the dark for a few hours, but she’d soon begin her work. She would deliver within the day, would show her master who his best servant was. She’d get the tainted half-blood to switch sides, or at the very least milk his mind of any useful memories before she released him from this world. 

Lord Voldemort’s eyes coloured like there was blood in his irises. 

“I’ll hold you to that. I believe Rosier brought you a woman, as well, a suspected spy? Think you can work your magic on her too despite her – gender?”

Bellatrix’s mouth curled into a snarl and her obvious arrogance made her master smile in return.

“We’ll be in touch.” 

With a swish of his robes he was gone, front door closing noiselessly in his wake.

“Are you done with Rabastan now?”

Rodolphus emerged from the music room, Bellatrix supposed he had been just out of sight while she spoke with their Lord, listening in. 

“I think we should do it together,” she said, barely sparing his jealous face a glance. He shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t object. Not that he had the power to do so, anyway.

“And what about the little Order twit?” 

“I’ll make him sing, don’t you worry.”

“Snape’s coming by later with some antidotes.”

Bellatrix frowned, a sliver of uneasiness stabbing her. There had been something odd about the boy when she had tried to use legilimecy on him when they had first brought him in and once she’s gotten him trussed up in the cellar. Rodolphus had been convinced it was a poison of some sort, especially as they had found an empty vial underneath him. She doubted it was anything they needed to worry about, though, she was a persuasive woman and she had gotten a lovely new silver knife as a two-year anniversary gift from Rodolphus. 

“Whatever,” she said out loud. “Accio strawberries,” she continued. A carton full of the little things came soaring from the direction of the kitchen; she had told the house-elf to procure some only that morning. She had her cravings and her servants knew that it was better for everyone if they were catered to promptly. She led the way upstairs, Rodolphus’s heavy footfalls right behind her. 

Rabastan was exactly where she’d left him, trapped and useless in his chair in front of the mirror. The bed was behind him, Bellatrix usually enjoyed having her different charges watch themselves and their bodies while she had her fun. Rabastan had his eyes closed, though, and he didn’t even stir as she walked in, followed by her husband. Rodolphus took a chair by the door next to the doll's house, and Bellatrix toyed with the idea of making him come closer, lie down on the bed perhaps. Maybe later.

“I come bearing gifts”, she told her brother-in-law, trying and failing not to laugh. She sat down astride his legs, pushing a strawberry between his slack lips. She had to help him chew, but it did wake him up and he grimaced at the sudden burst of flavour in his mouth. A few more and he had opened his eyes for her. She grew bored and dropped the carton to the floor and dug for her wand instead. She heard a combined intake of breath from the brothers as she pushed the tip of her wand into one of the wet, scarlet slits in his neck. Rabastan twitched feebly.

“Crucio,” she said, and then she had to laugh again. It felt fantastic, his body strung up and spasming, almost vibrating underneath her, not able to flail about as he was tightly bound. She felt almighty and so very good. 

“That’s enough, Bella!”

Her husband sounded angry, but he hadn’t moved from his chair. She poked Rabastan a bit deeper in the neck for good measure, then she stopped the curse and got up.

“I remember!” Rabastan sobbed out, there was snot and tears and blood dribbling down his face and he struck an absolutely pathetic figure. Bellatrix halted, could tell that Rodolphus was equally eager, husband and wife holding their collective breaths. 

“Yes?” she said, trying to keep her voice even despite the excitement. 

His breathing hadn’t slowed enough yet for him to speak I full sentences, and with some reluctance she got off him, walked around him so that he could watch them both in the mirror. She played with her wand, trying to force him to meet her eyes. She loomed over him with the intention to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, but then something else caught her eye and her breath hitched. Her cleavage was splattered with blood, and she stopped eagerly where she was, bent over at an arresting angle and she stared hungrily at her reflection. God she was fit.

“It was Ruth,” Rabastan stuttered out, voice unrecognizable from all the screaming. 

“Oh?” Bellatrix said, mind going blank for a second. She’d had her fun with Ruth, too, after Ruth whoring herself out to the worst of the blood-traitors had become known to them. Sirius was a dirty little slut too, though, had been one for longer than most. Bellatrix smirked at her reflection.

“She came to get me here; she must have used the Imperius Curse on me to get into our vault in Gringotts.”

“Come again?” Bellatrix felt a terrible unease rise within, like a cobra being poked awake.

“She made me get the engagement ring, I think that was all… Although, maybe she wanted to look for something else, too.”

“Did she take anything?” Bellatrix’s voice rose to a roar and her brother-in-law flinched.

“I didn’t see it if she did. I don’t think so, I think she just wanted the engagement ring, wanted me to propose.”

“Filthy slag,” Rodolphus said from the corner. Bellatrix twirled her wand and she was nervous, very nervous. How would someone like Ruth Yaxley have known about her secret mission for the Dark Lord? Surely, that was impossible. But Ruth had had it together with Sirius, and Sirius was in the Order. Were the Order out to get the fabulous treasure the Dark Lord had enchanted?

“I think she’s the one who killed Corban,” Rabastan continued. He looked worried too, now, as well he might. Because that made no sense. “I know it was her voice that spoke the Killing Curse. In the alley next to our house, I don’t know how the three of us got there. And then it’s all black.”

“What madness is that?” Bellatrix said out loud. Rabastan winced. 

“That’s all I can remember, I swear! I had my back turned for most of it. I think it’s all from the same afternoon, though.”

“Useless,” Bellatrix told him coldly, but Rodolphus had gotten up and he was suddenly there by his brother’s side, healing his wounds with skills borne out of a lot of practice. Her husband looked unusually displeased as he met her eyes, and they had a brief staring contest over the whimpers and the uneasy flinches from the man between them. Rodolphus aimed his wand at the ropes that were binding Rabastan to the chair. Bellatrix hesitated, but then she scowled and picked up the strawberries. 

“I’ll continue my fun in the cellar, then,” she said haughtily and strode out of the room. 

She waltzed downstairs to the cellar. She didn’t even bother with a charm to keep her bare feet warm and safe; it helped give her the kind of kick she constantly craved to toe the line on what was painful and dangerous. The first cave-like room in the cellar was filled with expensive wines, but after it there was a corridor that led to some rough stone cells with metal doors. The sight excited Bellatrix more than she could say, especially as she knew three of them were occupied. There was a visitor that wasn’t a prisoner in the last cell when she unlocked it. 

“Well hello,” Bellatrix said loudly, popping a strawberry into her mouth. Snape looked up, an unattractive frown on his face. He had been bending over Pettigrew (tied neatly to a chair), wand in hand and a scruffy potions bag open on the floor.

“He has taken a type of Forgetfulness Potion,” Snape told her in lieu of greeting, and she noted that he didn’t give her any explanation as to who had let him in. Presumably he had done that himself. The locking charms on the cells were advanced dark magic, but apparently he had gotten this one open without trouble. She stared haughtily at him, waiting.

“It’s potent, whatever it is. Never seen it before. I’ve given him the normal antidote and it’s not showing any signs of working.”

“I see,” Bellatrix sneered, and she assumed this meant that the prisoner would be difficult to interrogate. She refused to ask questions to clarify, though, hated the fact that someone common like Snape knew more than her about any subject at all. 

“I’ll try to compose an antidote on my own. I’ll be able to make one that works in the end, no doubt, but it will have to stew at least overnight, possibly longer if my first idea doesn’t work. I’ll head off now to get started, though, shall I?”

“You do that,” she told him dismissively. “You can see yourself out, no doubt? Rodolphus and Rabastan are – otherwise engaged…” 

He nodded; eyes unreadable. The metal door snicked shut behind him, and she tutted and sighed dramatically to herself. The little man bound to the chair was mousy and a little pudgy, with blue eyes and a runny nose. He looked back at her with vague curiosity and no recognition whatsoever. No fear. What's worse; no pain.


	82. The child is grown, the dream is gone; I have become comfortably numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd.

The first time Peter had done accidental magic was when he’d lit up his bedroom at night. He’d suffered from a lot of nightmares as a child, and sometimes he’d cry alone in bed for hours afterwards, too paralysed with fear to move. Sometimes his mother had woken up from the sobbing and come into his bedroom to comfort him. Sometimes, though, when she hadn’t come, he had managed to conjure light. And light scared the monsters away.

_“If you refuse to talk to me I will hurt you.”_

Something sharp poked around and there was a noise of tearing cloth, but the potion suppressed all memory that could’ve helped him interpret the feeling. Peter was trying to remember…

_“You’re no more worth than vermin, you little shit! Tell me everything you know about the Order, NOW!”_

The thing about vermin was that they weren’t half-bad animals, not really. Peter thought for sure that rodents, in particular, were downright useful. They were small and unobtrusive, rarely seen. He thought this might be important, somehow.

_“I’ll find a way around that potion you’ve taken, even if I have to cut open every inch of you in the process! How is the Order trying to take down the Dark Lord?”_

Peter thought that some animals had a special affinity for forests, too, actually he seemed to remember… Well. He thought there were the sounds of hooves, maybe some growling and the patter or heavy paws on the wet forest floor. They’d seen centaurs, several times, with their bows and arrows and their mournful way of speaking. They had been in awe of them, afterwards, as well as mocked them. ‘Well-hung fortune-tellers on four legs’, that was what they had jokingly said at the time, though secretly they had been shitting themselves... Only who was it Peter was thinking of?

_“What do you know of the Dark Lord? What does the Order know?”_

The forest was a dark place, even though the moon always seemed to be full in there. They’d seen spiders, too, and all three of them had been a bit scared of them. All three? Four? One out of four hadn’t been present, Peter thought, at least not in the usual sense. But the spiders had been there, and so had the angry little fairies, whose nests were high, high up in the trees… At a height you needed a broomstick to reach them, to steal their eggs for a dare, and oh what fun a game that had been. 

_“The Order, scum! The Order!”_

That meant nothing to Peter, but it did suggest some sort of camaraderie, a secret code between friends, maybe pranks to make the whole school laugh? During school or after? Was he thinking of the wrong group of vigilantes?

_“Absolutely useless.” Smack._

The best prank they’d ever pulled, Peter thought, was in connection with when they, after the third attempt, had successfully managed to brew Polyjuice Potion. Two of the four of them had drank it. One had refused, for moral reasons, and Peter… Peter hadn’t been asked to do it. Too much of a liability. They had gotten hairs from the Potions Professor and from the Defence Professor they had had in sixth year. The young one with the thin, pervy moustache and the long hair. Peter had walked into the Great Hall with several other hungry students and become witnesses to one of the greatest dramatical re-enactments of unbridled love ever to grace Hogwarts. The fat one with the walrus moustache had done most of the talking as the other one succumbed to giggles, but there had been dramatic readings of love poems, gratuitous flirting, intimate hair-braiding and Eskimo kisses. The two would-be Professors had ignored all and sundry, and they had had quite the audience towards the end of it. It had all ended when the real – the real? The real Potion’s Professor, whatshisname? He had joined the hundred-strong audience and watched himself, seated on the Gryffindor table, with the Defence Professor on his lap, caressing his big fat stomach as the two gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. It was only then that the students knew for certain they weren’t witnessing a budding romance between their real teachers, and the fact they were sitting at the Gryffindor table had sort of given the game away. 

_“Crucio!”_

Peter had some difficulty collecting his thoughts now, and that odd tingling wasn’t helping. But his mind wouldn’t take in what was happening around him, even though he somehow thought it ought to be worthy of his attention. There had been so many good pranks, though. Like the annual ones with the Giant Squid. One year they’d even used Peter’s original idea and executed it to great success. Not executed the squid, executed the idea. Executed? It held some sort of relevance, but it was all a bit beyond Peter. 

_Something squishy was forced into Peter’s mouth and he thought somebody might be laughing._

Surely, this wasn’t a laughing matter, though? Execution. He needed to escape… He what? There were several pranks involving strawberries, too. The potion they’d dosed the Slytherins with that made them all scared of owls, for instance. It had smelt divinely of strawberries. The one where they had put strawberry jam between the sheets in the older boys’ dormitory. They’d been tiny first years then, and some of the older boys had upset them by laughing at… At what? Somebody’s hair and glasses? Somebody’s unsavoury family? Peter’s fat belly. Peter had never been as fat as some people had liked to make him out to be, though.

_“I’ll just cut these off, shall I?”_

They’d once cut out the chameleon from the painting of Charlotte the Changeling on the corridor next to Ravenclaw Tower. They’d gotten into so much trouble for that, but it had been well worth it in the end. They had used the spellwork behind the chameleon to figure out how to make the map show different things depending on the phrasing of who was trying to read it. The implementation had been flawless, mainly because Peter’s brothers in arms were uncommonly talented. One in Charms, one in Transfiguration and the third in finding the right library book. All were good at duelling. None of them were good at dodging detention, though, but Peter thought that time it had been particularly worthwhile. Someone had told them off for desecrating ancient magical artefacts and irreplaceable school property. As if they’d ever cared. And, in the end, they had released the chameleon back into the painting, so it wasn’t as if anyone or anything had been seriously damaged in the making of the map. Speaking of maps: they would be good, right about now. 

_“There’s no way for you to escape. And you can scream all you like, nobody will ever hear you…”_

If only he could feel… There was so much red stuff everywhere. If only he could remember that trick he could do. That trick that was his and only his, the one nobody but he and his best mates knew about… 

_“Do you even know who I am, you miserable sod? Look at how my mere presence makes you cry like a lost little child. You and I are only getting started…”_

After school Peter had fought. He wasn’t sure who he’d fought, but he thought his friends had been at his side throughout. He thought they had been there for him, even though he had sometimes selfishly expected more of them. Peter owed them for his schooldays, certainly, but he thought he maybe did for what happened afterwards, too. There was supposed to be a Victoria sponge, and all of his previous sins were going to be forgiven.

_“I am Bellatrix Lestrange, and my name will be the last thing you remember before I end you. Now, do you know who my cousin is?”_

The distorted image of a face swam in front of Peter, as if he was watching a face through a body of water. He didn’t know who it was, he didn’t know anybody who had drowned, did he? But he knew the other one, whoever he was. 

_“Is he working for the Order, like that foolhardy, five-knut slag he used to call brother? Have you seen Regulus Black?”_

Something with a shaggy, wagging tail swum in front of Peter’s mind, along with an expensive leather jacket and a poster of a muggle pop star and a flying… It was a muggle thing. It was the wrong brother.

_“Regulus Black, you filthy half-blood! Is he alive?”_

That was it, wasn’t it? Long black hair and quite frightening eyes. He’d once told Peter that he looked good in a hat. Peter would never forget that. It was the kindest thing he’d ever said to Peter.

_“Tell me where the Potters’ live, then! The Potters’ address!”_

Peter would never do that, even if he could, he knew that much. They meant too much… _He_ meant too much. Always there when you needed him. Always a ready smile on his lips, always cracking jokes or showing Peter how talented he was; his magic, his reflexes, his moves on a broomstick… Peter had felt included. He would go to great lengths to keep him happy, greater lengths than for anyone else. Perhaps in another life he wouldn’t have, but then… But Peter remembered school. And at school his friends had meant everything. And they still did, mostly. Meant more than girlfriends and… And what? There was something else here at stake, but what was it?

_“Sirius Black, then? What abominable muggle dwelling has he chosen to live in?”_

Was that...? It all escaped Peter. There was a third one, too. One that turned into a… But it wasn’t really who he was. Peter knew that, really, deep down. He remembered how free they had been underneath the moon, but he also remembered the frightened face of the boy waking up on the rotting floorboards, mutely asking if he had killed… He never had, and that was how he lived with himself, with his affliction. Peter knew that deep down, although sometimes he almost forgot. Chose to forget. But he saw it now, the pale, lined and freckled face, the pained expression, the hands and feet that were bloodied after all that running about in the forest with the others. An innocent boy who occasionally got trapped for a few hours inside of the mind and body of a…

_“I will kill you in the end, Peter Pettigrew… And I will forget your name, just like everybody else will…”_

Something vaguely panicky, but it didn’t last. Nothing lasted in this state of mind. Peter wasn’t half the man he used to be. There was a knife, and it was… No, he couldn’t feel it. Miracle potion indeed. 

_“Nobody is coming to save you, nobody misses you, nobody loves you…”_

Peter saw a flash of purple, and he remembered her soft hair on his face, lots and lots tickling him as they giggled and wrestled underneath the covers. It had smelt like plums, or maybe cherries. He thought someone had once told him that the memories of smell were stored someplace different than the rest. But it was more or less forgotten.

_Something sliced through, and it was a lot to take, Peter’s body was shaking, and yet he didn’t feel…_

He had really wanted to love her. After his first real heartbreak, he had really needed to feel mutual love. She had never loved him, though, it had been as one-sided as what he had had with… Or had it? Maybe she had loved him, in her own way. The way she never wore her glasses, how they had laughed… He had turned a blind eye to it, he had so needed to love. He should have kept to his friends instead; they would have loved him if he’d told them how lonely he had become. Especially the one, the one who…

_“I’ll pay a visit to your family if you don’t talk to me! See how you like that. Where do your parents live?”_

Peter hadn’t thought about his father for years. Wouldn’t have remembered his face even without the potion. 

_“I will kill them in their beds.”_

But his mother was present, had raised him and made him into the man he was today. There was a time when Peter was worried about his mother. Something bad had happened, or almost happened. There had been a bruise on her face, he thought, although he couldn’t quite remember what her face looked like right now. Odd. It was when her boyfriend had left her, or maybe she had thrown him out. He hoped she had thrown him out, it would be better that way around. He hadn’t understood what had happened at the time, but he had seen how sad his mother had been and he feared he had done a miserable job of comforting her. But it was years ago, wasn’t it? What year was it now?

_“Answer me!” Smack._

It had been Christmas, Peter thought, the Christmas he had both begun and stopped smoking. Funny how you remembered certain little things like that. His career as a smoker had been short-lived, unlike -. Well. Unlike whose career? 

_“This little piggy went to the market…” There was a noise like sausages hitting the floor, one by one. Then more laughter._

Peter was sure there was something important he had forgotten. He was mildly uncomfortable, even though he couldn’t feel. It seemed to be part of the effect of the potion he had drunk. Had he drunk a potion? It didn’t matter, but there was something that did matter, something he truly was forgetting. Something that had helped him out of many a tight spot before. Something that made his wet little nose twitch. But he couldn’t recall… 

_“What’s that, Rodolphus? He let our prisoners escape? TRAITOR!”_

There was another presence in the space Peter was in, and not in the mind-reading way either. Not that she had gotten what she looked for from his mind, Peter had felt her look, she had searched his thoughts none too gently. Maybe the man would try the same. Peter felt surprisingly comfortable with that thought. If Peter didn’t know what was in there, there was no way anyone else could make sense of it, either.

_“If Snape’s dead there’s no reason to keep this one alive. Snape said he’s taken a potion, that the normal antidotes didn’t work. Traitorous half-blood might’ve been lying for all we know. He’s useless, potion or not, mind’s been tampered with by the Order no doubt. Or maybe he’s always been soft in the head.”_

Peter’s right hand looked nothing like it should and he wondered what had happened. But then there was something silvery scarlet in front of his eyes and he stopped trying to make sense of it. He’d lost it, whatever it was he used to know. Hopefully it wasn’t too bad. Hopefully his friends wouldn’t be too upset. His friends. Peter smiled a little, or at least he tried. They were beautiful people, his friends. So courageous, they would probably have gone through this with clear minds. So witty and funny and friendly. How they had laughed. Remember that time – But no. 

_“The Dark Lord is what? Speak up, you blithering idiot! We’re to go where? Are we to go to him?”_

He wondered when he’d see them next. His friends. He ought to tell them how much they meant to him, although he suspected they already knew. He’d protect them to the end, in this moment he really thought he would. He felt more courageous than normal. More Gryffindor. They would probably have died for him, and wasn’t that a heart-warming thought? He loved them. They loved him, too, Peter knew that even as he shuddered and started to slip away from where he was. Their friendship meant the world to Peter. There was that light he had been trying to conjure.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_


	83. We are the pretty, petty thieves, and you’re standing on our street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "First of the Gang to Die" by Morrissey.

Peter wasn’t at home. James was greeted by Mrs Pettigrew, who at first refused to open the door for him. They talked to each other through the cat flap for a few minutes, until Mrs Pettigrew was quite certain James was who he said he was. These were dangerous times, after all.

“You were always a bit too wild for my Peter,” Mrs Pettigrew said as they relocated to her kitchen. It was a tidy room but James didn’t find it very cosy. He knew Mrs Pettigrew and Peter had lived here for years, and it still didn’t look that way. All the white surfaces were a bit grey and free of clutter, the curtains and tablecloth too dark for the room. The only pictures on the walls were old drawings a small and not very skilful child had made, but Peter hadn’t been a small child for ages. The cheap clock on the wall was much too loud, and James thought he would have gone insane had he been living with such a loud ticking noise.

“So I’ve been told,” James said disarmingly, but his natural charm seemed to do very little for Mrs Pettigrew today. “He’s out, then?”

“He didn’t come back from work last night. I thought you and the other lads had lured him off, somewhere. Taken him out drinking again? His behaviour has had me worried many a night, I can tell you that much.”

“We haven’t seen him for a few days, either. Could he be staying with his girlfriend?”

Mrs Pettigrew sniffed and gave him a disdainful look.

“Such ridiculous hair, it really shouldn’t be allowed. What is going on with the youth of today, I’d like to know?”

“Her hair’s really the least bad thing about her, I reckon,” James muttered.

“You don’t like her, either?” The first small note of approval could be traced in her voice. “He has seemed rather less interested in her for the last week, and he even told me he might break things off with her.”

James felt a surge of affection for Peter flood him and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Smart man, your son,” he said, rather on purpose, watching her reaction intently. She scoffed, first, but then something a bit kinder showed up in her face.

“Maybe he’s getting there,” she finally said. “You aren’t that bad anymore either, are you?” she continued quite seriously, and James laughed happily in response. 

“We’re all growing up, Mrs Pettigrew. When you see him, can you tell him I’ve been round to see him? Tell him we miss him, and that we’re planning a massive party for him. He’s turning nineteen in style.”

“I will be sure to pass it on.”

This time there was definitely a kindness in Mrs Pettigrew’s eyes. James kissed her cheek impulsively and then left, a new spring in his step. He apparated to Alton Pancras, which looked as sleepy and tired as it always did. He sometimes thought his hometown was the reason he’d turned out so loud and energetic; if he’d been born in a city, perhaps he wouldn’t have felt the need to make as much noise.

“Where’s the rest of your gang?”

“The rest of _my_ gang?” James repeated amusedly. He had found his mother in the kitchen, too. Euphemia was stylishly dressed in purple and silver robes and her thin, white hair had some early summer flowers woven into it. 

“Yes, yours. They all look to you for guidance, it’s plain for everyone to see. I used to think it’d stop once you lot graduated, but it never did.”

James hesitated. Peter had tried to strike out on his own and look where that had landed him? With a girlfriend who stood for everything they were fighting against. Hopefully ex-girlfriend by now. Sirius and Remus had been working secretly together for months, and James thought a lesser man than he might have been seriously offended to not have been included from the start. It was plain to see for all of them that the horcrux project had picked up speed once he, James, had been included in it. But perhaps there were things more important than James’s pride. 

“Sometimes I wish we’d never left school.”

Euphemia’s happy and teasing eyes widened and some of the deep wrinkles were smoothed out as her gaze was replaced by pure affection. 

“We’re so proud of you, love,” Euphemia said. 

“Thanks Mum. When’s the last time you’ve seen Sirius and the others, anyway?” James asked it jokingly, but his mother raised a wispy eyebrow at him.

“Sirius and I solve the Sunday crossword together,” Euphemia said matter-of-factly, as if this should somehow be common knowledge. “Not every week, admittedly, and sometimes he’s terribly hungover when he shows up. He should watch his health more, but then I’ve been saying that for years and I suppose he’s still with us. Trying to get me to ride that flying bike of his too, now that it’s warmer outside. Not that that will ever happen. I watched him take it apart and enchant everything and put it back together, right here in my back garden. There’s no way I’m ever getting on it.”

James laughed out loud; that had been the summer between sixth year and seventh. Sirius had put such a strong levitation charm on one of the tyres that it had gotten loose overnight and they had seen a photo of it after it had settled itself around the head of the statue on Nelson’s Column a week later. It had made the muggle news and Sirius had been forced to buy a new tyre.

“As for Remus, he comes here occasionally with Sirius. Such a thoughtful and sweet young man he has become. They balance each other very well, I think.” Euphemia gave James a rather penetrating look, but he just shrugged. He hadn’t realized that his friends took time out to visit his mother, of all people. But then Sirius and Remus didn’t exactly have any good parents left. 

“Peter stops by every two weeks or so, always hoping to catch you here, I think. He does like my treacle tart and my crumpets as well, though. Not my fruit tarts, however, but then again nobody does.”

James’s smile didn’t fade, and he got momentarily lost in thought. His mum had a handful of dishes she did well, but most of the time she was a terrible cook. What she produced was infinitely better than anything Fleamont could have accomplished were he ever encouraged to come near the kitchen appliances, and so James had never seen reason to complain. 

That Peter came here once a month was perhaps even more startling than the fact that Sirius spent lazy Sunday afternoons with his surrogate mother. Peter apparently visited James’s Mum just to try to see more of James. James’s heart felt oddly swollen and tender, and it was a feeling he welcomed. It was definitely time to set any remaining differences aside and he hoped Peter would get in touch soon. Peter needed his friends more than most, and James had a big responsibility there. 

“I bet you lean on Lily as much as she leans on you, though?”

“I need her more than she needs me,” James corrected, almost absent-mindedly. “Like you and dad.”

“You’d be surprised,” Euphemia said. “Sometimes, your father has been required to come to my rescue.”

James shook his head slowly. He had a feeling his mother was just being nice. He couldn’t imagine a single scenario where Lily wasn’t the strong one out of the two of them. Mostly they were equals, but more than once he’d had to go to her for help. And she had always provided him with it.

“I can’t stay long, actually, we’re sort of in the middle of something.” James hesitated, bouncing up and down on the soles of his feet. “We’ve got something important to do, all of us. There might be fighting, but I promise I’ll be safe.”

Euphemia nodded with more understanding than James had expected, and he tried to keep his facial expression even as her dark eyes scanned his face. A small daisy fell out of her hair and James watched the flower’s slow descent to the floor instead.

“You’ll go greet your father before you go, won’t you?”

“Of course.” James’s legs bore him towards his mother, but instead of hugging her he picked up the flower and reapplied it to her hair. Old age had made her tiny, and he felt very tall indeed next to her. He left her looking contemplative but not too worried. 

James’s father was usually in his potion’s laboratory, and James had to pass both his and Sirius’s old rooms on the way. It felt odd, seeing the scorch marks on his door from a combined spell of theirs gone wrong (Odin the owl had lost a few feathers that day), especially as they looked faded and much smaller than he remembered. Had it really been years ago? And what about that dent in the wooden floorboards, where they had dropped a huge glass jar filled with alcohol they had tried to brew themselves? It was barely visible, and much less impressive than James remembered it. 

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?” Fleamont was supporting himself on his cane and bent over a cauldron filled with something that seemed to beam sectors of rainbow in different directions.

“Thought I’d pop in and say hello.”

“Mhmm.”

Fleamont poked his wand into the dead centre of the surface of his potion, and there was a noise similar to harp music. James had an appreciative look around the lab, which continued to be lit up by the rainbows and by golden and red candles. Fleamont took his status as a Gryffindor seriously even in his old age. Along the walls there were unlabelled potions and poisons and mysterious locked boxes and murky things in jars and things that looked like precious stones but were probably fairy eggs and hairs of magical creatures and bright flower petals that floated of their own volition.

“We’re probably fighting, if not tonight then later in the week. There’s a lot that’s happened and I can’t wait to tell you and Mum all about it. We’re taking down the Death Eaters, and maybe Voldemort himself.”

It sounded pompous, even to his own ears, but his father didn’t disappoint. He barely reacted at all, just nodded a few times and then looked vaguely around the room, as if he was searching for an elusive ingredient. 

“Scales of the Hydra,” Fleamont muttered vaguely, then: “you go make your mother proud. Show the Death Eaters what’s what.”

James stared fondly at his father, then followed his gaze to a shelf containing a collection of bones and horns and teeth and snakeskins.

“What’s the most dangerous substance you keep in here?” James asked on a whim, unexpected hope igniting. He held his breath and waited, the only sound in the laboratory the ethereal harp-like music. 

“Basilisk venom,” Fleamont muttered, pointing to a corner with his cane, “bought it off a French alchemist in the twenties. Twelve hundred gallons of Sleekeazy’s only needs a single drop of it, but it is vital to the end product. There’s no other way of taming hair like yours. Need to fight fire with fire.”

James collected his dropped jaw from the floor and moved in the direction of where the cane had indicated. There it was, a full bottle of it, looking just like the description Remus had found in a book. A sick dark yellow liquid with tiny black fragments in it. James fumbled with his wand and conjured up a phial, then he collected his prize.

For all his good fortune, as James walked out the garden gate he still felt a prickling of nerves, which was unusual for him. Something about Peter’s mother not having seen him for a whole day was a bit strange, wasn’t it? Peter’s mother fussed and he always made sure to see her or at least tell her where he was so that she didn’t worry. Had the Skeeter woman done something to him as he broke up with her? He ought to talk to Sirius and Remus.

James was just about to apparate to the Shack when he saw something glossy and black sneak into the hedge opposite, but not before there was a flash of golden yellow eyes, large pointy ears… Surely that was Freya the cat? 

James stared in confusion at the spot in the hedge, dozens of miles away from Godric’s Hollow, and his nerves were overtaken by a sense of dread. 

James’s feet hit the ground outside of his and Lily’s cottage, and he was met anew by those same yellow eyes. Freya’s fur was lit up by the green light from above, and she was sitting next to a grim-looking Bathilda Bagshot wrapped in scarves and the corpse of Snivellus Snape, looking like a bat that had crashed into a window. 

“The cat alerted me as well, but I’m afraid I was too late to see what happened. I’m not as light on my feet as I used to be. I’ve called on Moody, I hope that’s the correct one to get? He’s one of your lot, isn’t he?” Bathilda croaked, speaking unusually fast for her, and James stared at the corpse next to her in confusion, then up at the sky and the Dark Mark above. Freya got up and walked towards the gate to the cottage, her yellow eyes boring into James. James pulled out his wand and opened the gate mutely and he and Bathilda followed the cat. The door to the cottage had been left ajar.

“Lily,” James whispered, and the tail of the cat twitched. There was an open jar of bright red jam cooling on the kitchen table, and there were dark bloodstains on the floor. James followed them into the front room, the cat in the lead and Bathilda’s uneven steps sounding right behind him. 

There were two people on his sofa, and neither one was his wife. One was a man who could have been a corpse but for his heaving chest, the other one looked like a ghost turned solid. She was conscious and looked right at him, protruding pale eyes barely curious, and he recognized her as one of the Lovegood twins. Basket cases both of them.

“You’re Benjy’s informant,” James said dully, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Snape had jumped ship, had possibly even tried to switch sides. He had gone to the only person who meant something to him, and he had brought a bribe, two by the looks of it. Snape had always loved Lily, James knew. He could recognize someone who had it as badly as him, even if it had never served to make Snivellus sympathetic to him. Lily had taken them in, first, and then she had acquiesced to talk to her old friend, to hear him out. Maybe she had thought she could help him.

“Lord Voldemort has come for you wife, if I’m not mistaken,” Bathilda Bagshot said from his side. “He is the type of Dark wizard who will kill and never repent. He will want your wife for a specific purpose, too. He doesn’t love, he doesn’t show mercy, and he only pretends to believe in the movement that congregates around him. Trust me on this, I know my Dark wizards from each other. Right now Albus is your only hope, mark my words.”

James shook his head slowly, not really listening. He needed Sirius, and then they needed to go save Lily.


End file.
